


Wild & Wasted Waters

by ozomin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Mental Illness, Romance, Sexual Content, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:17:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozomin/pseuds/ozomin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has become Dean's caretaker when he lands himself in a mental facility after the death of his brother. Castiel searches heaven for a way to regain the lover he's lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Bethany, Meghan, & Plumy you guys are the stars in my sky.

PART ONE

                It’s mid-day and that does nothing to better Castiel’s mood. The sun is beaming down at them like a lamp and there are no clouds in sight. All he can stare at is the fresh soil. Recently dug earth patted down not more than four weeks ago and four feet away from where he’s sitting while the heat penetrates his coat and pinches at his skin. There’s a distinct rot in the air only he can smell but not place. It may be the corpses deteriorating beneath him, but he’s not sure. His ass is planted in grass still dewy from the crisp morning and it’s spotting his pant legs and making the seat of them ridiculously uncomfortable. He’s got his arms braced between his knees and another arm wrapped around his own. Her rosy cheek is resting lazily against his shoulder, wrinkling the material while the warmth strangely comforts him.

                “I miss him so much,” Amelia says, curling closer to him.

                “I wouldn’t expect any different.” Castiel replies, “I miss him as well.” He finishes with a content smile, a small curve of his lip. “How are you doing?”

                “I’m coping,” she purses her lips briefly, “That’s all I can—or try to do right now. What about you Castiel?”

                “Sam was…family. I’d die for him.” Castiel tilts his head, the side of his face meeting the top of her head. “It’s much too late to express regrets, he is well now.”

“He’s alright isn’t he?” She asks. It’s the first time she’s blatantly asked him since the funeral.

                “He’s at peace,” Castiel answers shortly. He’s honestly not sure so he stops talking.

                “Are you sure?” She continues, presses as Castiel’s insides tighten slightly, “You know where he is?”

                “Heaven. He’s in heaven.” Castiel replies. He has a vague inkling that Sam resides in the fields of his father. Castiel swears he felt the soul of the younger Winchester in the process of a reaping weeks ago, the night of his funeral. The destination of the soul however, Castiel finds remains to be seen.

He knows she simply seeks reassurance. From anyone and Castiel is currently the only one capable. And so he continues, he’ll be her assurance, her comforter. The way humans have typically viewed his kind. “I have yet to receive word of his exact location. Heaven is a series of complex realities,” Castiel explains, “everyone’s is different.” _Save for soul mates_ Castiel adds in his head. He’ll comfort her yes, but he won’t build false hope. But for her sake, Castiel prays to no one in particular that she is Sam’s soul mate.

                “So, even if he was at peace, you couldn’t bring him back?” Amelia tilts her head in his direction and says it like she doesn’t mean it. She clearly doesn’t want to build her hopes up either. Castiel senses so he comforts.

                “I believe he’s irretrievable at this point, it would be ill-fated to resurrect him. It’s best to—to leave him in his haven.”

                “If he’s truly at peace,” she pauses thoughtfully, “then I wouldn’t want to disturb it.” She settles, nuzzling her head further against Castiel’s shoulder as to sooth herself.

                They’ve become….close, if Castiel had to choose a word. Sure he’d visited their home more than a few times with Dean, but they’d never explicitly bonded. Not until Sam’s death. And that didn’t bode well with any of them. Especially Dean. He couldn’t take it, and the realization broke him. It ruined Dean and Castiel fears it’s an illness he can’t heal. A madness inflicted upon him because it was then Castiel realized how dependent the brothers really were on each other. Dean was missing a piece of himself. And he lost it the day Sam died. 

                Castiel turns his head to stare into her face, framed with rich brown curls and reddened cheeks. Her lips, full and pink, void of any makeup are pursed gently together. He admires her beauty, his own eyes glistening with the love for his father’s children as he reaches up with a hand to brush back a stray curl behind her ear.

                “You’ll heal,” Castiel states, his eyes still piercing hers. “We’re all in mourning,” Castiel pauses, “Especially Dean. He hasn’t been taking it well.” Castiel continues vaguely. He lets loose a weary sigh but refuses to acknowledge how bad Dean has actually gotten.

                “You’ll heal too Castiel,” Amelia says soothingly, “I know he’s upset, have you been talking?”

                “Not recently,” he replies, “he’s still searching for a way to bring Sam back from heaven.” Castiel lies, he knew of Dean’s intentions and how foolish they were. He also knows Dean hasn’t been searching for solutions. Not anymore, he hasn’t been for over a week now.

Though that phase of grief had seemingly passed in Dean, Castiel refuses to say different. Not yet anyway. They haven’t really spoken since the funeral. There was a fight, but Castiel refuses to believe that was really Dean shouting at him. Castiel had believed Dean would find a comfort in him. But all Dean found was his own desperation. And now Castiel knows what a horrible decision that was. He blames himself for Dean’s state, wishes he could go back and change the result.

                “He hasn’t been speaking to me,” he says instead of the swirl of thoughts pushing towards the front of his mind.

                “Dean needs you Cas, and if you have to approach him about this…so be it. He can’t do this without you.” Amelia questions. And just like that she’s assuring him that everything’s alright, that Dean will somehow get up from all of this and love Castiel the way he always has.

                “Dean is…for the time being—“he pauses, “--alright, he’s learning to cope,” Castiel lies again.

                “Well, he’s got you doesn’t he?” She gives him a knowing smile.

                “He does…” Castiel mulls over the phrasing, deciding it’s correct when he says, “...have me.” Castiel thinks of Dean. Dean holding him, physically having him and it makes his stomach feel uncomfortably airy. Of course Amelia is referring to the metaphorical support. The selfless help Castiel will provide him with time and time again.

                “And he always will Cas.” Amelia snuggles against him. The way she tells him, it sounds like she’s so sure of herself. A conviction Castiel feels he may never get the hang of. But here she is, informing him of something Castiel feels he’s lost sight of. She appears content for the time being. Even though Castiel can still sense the gentle simmer of unease in the pit of her belly, he compromises.

                “Would you like me to take you home?” Castiel asks offhandedly, his free hand plucking at the grass near his hip. He wouldn’t want to rush her, but it’s then he realizes he might be late for work if he doesn’t leave soon.

                “I can take a cab if you have somewhere to be.” Amelia offers. She shifts abruptly out of the grip she had. Standing to brush away any loose dirt or grass that may have stuck from the mousy brown skirt now clinging to her thighs.

                “I—I, uh—” Castiel stands himself, his hands smoothing the creases in his coat. “I can take you, it’s no problem.” He offers because he doesn’t want to leave her side until he absolutely has to.

                “Are you sure, I wouldn’t want to be of any bother to you Cas, I’ll call a cab,” Amelia looks down, one hand digging into the confines of the small honey colored purse she keeps slung around her shoulder.

                “Yes, the car is parked over there.” Castiel places a non-threatening hand upon her forearm, gives her the most sincere look he can manage in this time crunch. “I can assure you the car will not crash.” He begins to coax her in the direction of the car when she lets loose a chuckle.

                “If you really insist Cas,” she drops her phone back into her purse then follows Castiel from the cemetery.

Whenever he can, Castiel makes time to take her home. Though she takes the cab to the cemetery, Castiel assures her that it’s no trouble to visit Sam with her. That Dean’s okay with it even if he’s still too upset to appear himself. And Amelia believes him. Castiel told her with a finality that kept her from asking about Dean. Since then, she assumed they were having relationship trouble and Castiel went along with it. He feigned updates, even if his insides shriveled with every lie he couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet anyway.

Castiel keeps his knuckles tight around the steering wheel. He’d been driving without Dean for about a week. Before then, he preferred shotgun when Dean was around. When they fought, especially before the funeral, Castiel sought refuge in a separate motel room until Dean cooled down. He realizes what a wrong move that was. He should have been there when Dean was at his angriest. There to soothe the ache building behind his eyes. Dean changed that day a week ago. And Castiel believes, in fact he knows he could have prevented it if only he had been there.

He’d driven without Dean before and this was no different. He’s a good driver, Dean only got mad at Castiel once for almost crashing the car and that had been during his early learning days. A period where most mistakes Castiel finds he cannot be held liable for, despite Dean’s aggressive rejection of the excuse.

                The road is smooth beneath them and glistening with mirages in the Texas sun. The rumbling sound the car makes calms him, makes him almost forget Amelia’s next to him. Makes him forget that Dean isn’t okay, that maybe he’s right next to him holding his hand and smiling good naturedly out the window.

Castiel remembers those nothing-to-do nights spent in the back roads of tornado alley. His knuckles white against the steering wheel of the Impala after Dean persuaded him into thinking that it was a crucial skill to have.

And once they began, the tires trudging along so slow Castiel believes time has stopped, Castiel found turning the wheel and pressing the brake were easier than he’d previously anticipated. The grueling pace was Dean’s portion of the matter. Apparently one look at the empty field they were parked in was enough to activate the hair trigger Dean had when it came to possibly endangering the car.

                The sun’s still baking the sky as it begins to sink, casting a long shadow of the car across the beaten dirt.  They’re just loafing around in the front seats at this point, the windows are down, Castiel had given up for the day, and Dean’s exhausted. Dean’s almost flat in the shotgun seat, legs splayed, t-shirt wrinkled and sticking to his skin. Castiel’s own clothes had been folded and stuffed in the trunk in favor of a pair of Dean’s worn jeans, knees poking out at the holes while his out-of-place dull dress shoes peek out from beneath frayed cuffs. Both their heads are plastered with sweat, hair limp and flat, ruffled occasionally by a scarce breeze that does nothing to alleviate the heat.

                It’s too hot to do anything, but they manage anyway. Castiel takes Dean into his lap, the front door wide open in a last ditch effort for better ventilation. His calloused hands roaming the damp plane of Dean’s stomach and his lips brushing against his navel. Castiel can feel affection burning, curling in his belly much like the thick air, unrest with dust around them. Dean’s hands cradle Castiel’s head, fingers intertwined with darkened limp hair, as he sinks down to meet Castiel’s lips with his own. The taste is still sweet and heady from the beer they’d drunk an hour ago. It’s a few lazy minutes of feigned enthusiasm until Dean slides from the seat so far his feet hit dirt. He unbuckles Castiel’s belt with an unnatural fluidity and proceeds to take half of him in. Dean’s lips glisten with spit and eyes glint a crystalline green when the light catches them. His pace is languid like he just wants to relish in the taste of the cock between his lips, his tongue is slow and warm, unhurried in exhaustion. Castiel’s fingers curl affectionately around Dean’s nape, feeling the damp that had collected there.

Amelia notices the curious quirk in his lips and gives his arm a gentle shake. And all is forgotten as he pulls into Amelia’s driveway.

                “Thanks Cas,” She gives him a smile, conveys to him that she’s doing okay and Castiel should begin to work a bit more on the problems she knows nothing about.

                “It’s nothing Amelia, just call if you need anything, anything at all.” Castiel turns towards her, an earnest look in his eyes.

                “You need to worry a bit more about yourself Cas. Go talk to Dean.” She urges. Amelia then heads up her porch after a quick kiss to his cheek and a squeeze of his hand.

It’s another twenty minute drive from Amelia’s house in the Texas heat to the motel he’s currently residing in. The Impala’s windows are rolled down and the radio is playing some oldies rock, a song he doesn’t recognize turned up just enough to drown out any straying thoughts he may have.

He’s playing with the motel key in his pocket with one hand as he slows into a parking space with the other, the engine going abruptly quiet. The motel’s located on the way from town

 Castiel had rented out the room for the month at least. He stares at the off white walls and the one poorly painted green door as he approaches his room. It’s dim inside, the room facing away from the slowly rising sun, he flicks on the light switch to see the work clothes he’d set out for himself that morning when he’d woken.

The bed’s still in disarray, the comforter halfway off the mattress spilling onto the brown carpet. Such a distinct brown he’s not sure whether or not it was that way when it was purchased. On the floor is his duffle, zipped closed and partially shoved beneath the bed. A few vague pictures of trees and buildings cover the striped wallpaper.

Castiel shoves off his coat and folds it across the back of one the chairs. Pushing it into a small table, a pack of unopened beers on top of it, he plucks the keys from his pocket and places them near a half empty bottle before beginning to work on loosening his tie. He feels rushed with the half hour before work he’s got. Castiel hastily pulls off his shirt and dons a crisp white one, smoothing out the wrinkles with his palms before unbuttoning his pants and pulling on the white pair waiting for him.

He tells himself that this is all for Dean as he pulls on the white pants that are just a bit too loose for him. They slide to rest gently at his hips when he lets go. _For Dean._ Is his lingering thought as he once again grabs his keys and coat and heads out the door.

The building is an old grey one framed by large parking lots that belong to an insurance agency and a car dealership. The gritty sidewalks and asphalt are already baking in the heat.

Castiel wipes at his brow as he parks the car. Reserved for employees, the spaces sit fortunately under a cement extension, beneath a veranda that surrounds a portion of the building. He blinks hard, eyes shut in the partial darkness.

It’s all for Dean, Castiel tells himself. He’ll watch over him in any setting.

Even this one.

Castiel stares at the sign each time he walks in, as if it’ll tell him what to do. _Kermit County Mental Facility_. And instead each time he reads it, his heart drops into his gut.

“Dean?” Castiel eases his way into the room, revels in the cool air of the building. The windows at the end of the long room have been opened, the high sun spilling bright light onto the floor. Castiel walks past the empty row of beds to the one on the end, a curtain pulled back capable of separating the space from the rest of the room.

He sees Dean sitting cross legged on the bed, above the sheets, a small tray set before him.

“Eating are we?” Castiel says, looking at Evelyn, the colleague he’d asked to take his morning shift.

“Just finished actually.” She turns from Dean to fully face Castiel.

“Thank you for taking this shift for me. I had an important engagement with a friend.” Castiel says.

“It’s all fine, he’s been a kind little thing,” She smiles.

Possibly one of the few people Castiel knows can handle and care for Dean the way he would. With her mousy brown hair and bright blue eyes, Castiel feels one of the reasons Dean connects well with her is due to her likeness to him.

She can’t help but refer to Dean like a child despite the almost full decade he may have on her. Evelyn says it with affection; she’s quite fond of Dean.

Dean looks up from the tray, gives Castiel a curious look.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel sits down in the bedside chair. “Has he been any trouble?” Castiel glances up at her, he can’t help but notice the freckles brushed across her cheeks and nose like sparse paint.

“He behaves himself like always,” she gives him a placating smile. “He’s already used the bathroom and the showers. Dean told me some interesting stories, but other than that, he’s doing well.”

“What stories may I ask?” Castiel asks, looking down when Dean grabs a hold of his sleeve. It comforts him.

“You know the way he speaks, told me about ghosts today. Did you know apparently salt wards them?” Evelyn says waving her hand.

“Yes, Dean’s told me that one. Many times.” His lips upturn slightly in amusement.

Evelyn looks down at the folder in her hands to hide the smile pulling at her lips.

“I’d expect he has,” she says shifting her gaze back to him, “considering all the time you spend watching over him,” Evelyn’s smile is thoughtful, her eyes honest.

She doesn’t sound accusatory in the least. Castiel’s knowledge of her extended to knowing all about how fond she was about Castiel choosing to stay by Dean’s side. Though that’s the extent of her knowledge.

Everything else, their past, their present, was all still a secret. A secret Castiel wasn’t too keen on spilling anytime soon. Dean’s severe case of what appeared to be post-traumatic stress disorder appeared to have debilitated him to his very basic nature. A child in search of comfort. And Castiel gave whatever he could to Dean.

When Castiel doesn’t reply, Evelyn nods gently to herself before she starts towards the door.

“I’ll be at the main—around if you need anything.” She places the folder of Dean’s records down on the foot of the bed before excusing herself without another word.

A few moments pass in silence. Dean had let go of Castiel a minute ago, he now picks at the hem of his light blue shirt and alternatively stares at the side of Castiel’s face as he in turn watches the door.

Dean lifts a timid hand towards Castiel, then quickly buries it in his shirt when Castiel finally turns around.

“Dean?” Castiel lifts an eyebrow.

“Nothing…Cas.” He replies neatly, wrapping his hands in his shirt, exposing his pale skin.

“Is everything alright?” Castiel asks, reaching across the bed sheet for Dean’s papers before settling back in his seat.

“Fine.” Dean says shortly, averting his eyes and instead staring down into his lap.

Dean isn’t very talkative; he tires easily and spaces out often or stops answering all together. When he says Castiel’s name, Castiel can feel his insides tighten, his pulse quicken. All in foolishness when he doesn’t hear the intimacy or the familiarity of tone Dean once had. His voice is clean and quiet and scared and curious; it almost frightens Castiel.

“Are you still hungry?” Castiel looks into Dean’s face. When Dean shakes his head, Castiel takes the tray from on top the bed sheet and moves it to the bed surface behind him.

Dean doesn’t speak much after that. The silences are frequent and Castiel deals by straightening up the space and watching over Dean as he alternates between sleeping and staring into the mythology books Castiel brought him.

At his bedside are pictures of Sam, though Castiel finds himself answering Dean every few days when he asks who that is. There are no pictures of Dean and him, Castiel doesn’t want to hear the questions and he doesn’t know if he could handle them either. Amelia’s standing next to Sam in one of the pictures. But he never seems to ask about her. Dean’s leather jacket is folded across the back of the chair Castiel sits in. He’d brought things from the Impala, anything if it helps comfort Dean. With the Impala parked outside, sitting in the thick heat, Castiel sometimes finds Dean staring down at it when he’s gone to the front desk for various papers and check-ins.

Dean never says anything about it though. Castiel asks him, hopes that maybe Dean will say something about it, anything. But he never does.

Castiel finds himself staring down at it now. He admits he doesn’t park near this window often. The impala usually sits farther down the parking lot, out of sight.

He sees the gloss of the hood even in shade and the leather seats through the window. It reminds him endlessly of Dean and the soul he possesses. For Castiel, it’s difficult not to consider the soul as well when he’s met with someone. It’s a part of him that he doesn’t think he’ll let go of anytime soon. The way Dean’s soul was still shining, glinting in grace when Castiel took him in. Though the smoke of Hell marred the surface, it still remained as one of the most piercing things Castiel had come into contact with. He’s been staring for about fifteen minutes when he realizes he hasn’t heard a peep from Dean.

Castiel turns to see Dean’s back fall abruptly to the bed, his body stilling. It’s then Castiel knows what’s coming. He makes his way back to Dean’s side, staring into eyes that see nothing.

Dean’s lips part and he lets out a shuddering breath.

“Sam….” He says and Castiel freezes. He always does.

It’s not often that Dean somehow reaches a clarity point but he does occasionally. It had only happened once before since Castiel had come to watch over him. Dean’s body is still save for the rattle rises of his chest from even shakier breaths. Castiel’s frozen in his seat. He thought Dean had lost all conscious thought. Every time Dean regains what consciousness he may have, it never ceases to simultaneously amaze and overwhelm Castiel.

“Sammy?” He says again, a mere warm breath in the air conditioned room.

“Dean, it’s me--it’s Castiel, Cas--Dean?” Castiel tries in vain to reach him, though he knows Dean can’t hear him.

“Sammy—you can’t be dead damn it—” He grits out. “I’ve tried everything—” Dean drifts off. His voice breaks and his lips close slightly.

                Castiel takes a shallow breath himself. “Dean.” He tries again, places a gentle hand on Dean’s forearm.

                “I’ve tried….everything…Sammy,” There’s a tear leaking from the corner of Dean’s eye. Castiel lets it slip across his skin, towards his temple before wiping it away.

                “You can’t hear me Dean—”

                “Deals…the demons…” Dean’s eyes squeeze closed and another tear is forced out.

                The late night escapes told Castiel all he needed to know. He strongly advised Dean against them. He purposely let Dean believe that he didn’t actually know about it. It was a sick pride Castiel had and Dean had unfortunately plucked at a sensitive nerve. If it took all the demons in the world to reject him then so be it if meant Dean would finally understand. Castiel would always be there for him, he just wanted Dean to realize that.  They didn’t need more pain than there already was. Dean drank that night, a nearly empty bottle of hard liquor dangling between his fingers when he told Castiel that none of the demons wanted anything to do with the Winchesters lest they end up on a slab like the poor souls in the pit.

                “None of those bastards wanted…damn it—” Dean says from between stiff lips.

                His fist is tightly clutched before Castiel even notices. He’s sure Dean might’ve drawn blood by now, though he can’t see any red. Castiel smooths Dean’s palm with his own hand, unwrapping the tightly curled fingers and rubbing at the crescent shapes etched into Dean’s skin with his thumb.

                Dean’s silent for a few moments, his jaw tensing and fingers squirming in Castiel’s hand, itching to curl closed.

                “I’m so—fucking sorry…Sam. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’ll get you back—anything—anything at all.” Dean whimpers, a sharp breath follows and Castiel can feel it burning in his own lungs. It was a car accident that took Sam, a stupid mundane car accident that took the man saved the world once.

                “Dean, I can find Sam. For you—I’ll do it on your place.” With Dean barely able to function on his own, a trip to Heaven or Hell would be ill-advised. “Sam is my friend—our family. If finding him will bring you peace--I can do it Dean.” He pleads to unhearing ears.

                “I’ll get you back…I shouldn’t have asked—damnit.” Dean’s voice is a rasp of a whisper. Castiel can barely hear Dean himself, see the lips moving, feels the words but not register the sound of them.

                Dean’s spoken himself exhausted even though he may not know.  His head lolls sideways onto the pillow towards Castiel. 

                “Dean?” Castiel watches him blink hard, squeeze his lids together. Forgetting everything before they open wide and curious. Dean shifts.

                “C-Cas?” Dean breathes, “Are you okay?” he asks, staring at the furrowed brows, and sullen expression. “Cas, I’m sleepy,” Dean doesn’t wait for an answer. He rubs his eye with the hand Castiel had let go of.

                “You’re tired Dean, sleep now.” Castiel has his palms flat on the bedspread. He spares a glance into Dean’s now calm face. He’s sleeping peacefully within minutes. Castiel’s eyes find the clock on the wall belaying his shift time as about over. Over the past week he’d clock out at the end of his shift then appear back in Dean’s room to watch him for a bit.

                Though that was the usual, that night, Castiel finds himself a bit preoccupied.

…

 

                Heaven comes swirling toward him like a gust of wind. He’s landed in the space above where most angels dwell. His own grace suppressed against their presence in hopes of slipping by unnoticed.

                All that surrounds him is an all-encompassing white. Above him are what appear to be glittering orbs, like dim light bulbs half buried in a white cloud like fog. The light is bright and pleasant on his face. Castiel searches, extends himself for any hint or sign of his brother. One who will only welcome him; though her version of welcoming him was akin to just a bit better a treatment than she would others.

                There’s a knowing tingle in his gut and a sense of familiarity curling through his grace, Castiel latches on and transports.

                The anteroom is a bit dingy, peeling wallpaper, loose floorboards beneath him. Castiel strides past dull and scratched banisters to a flight of stairs. Swirling what appears endlessly above him. The usual location of his brother is one of immaculate spaces and rich décor, polished wood and the clean smell of roiling ocean spray. This was different.

                Castiel places a foot onto the first wooden step, it barely has time to creak before he transports once more. Landing at the top slightly disoriented, he doesn’t let it show as he stares into the unusual dwelling of his brother.

                Large walls of stained glass section off the circle of the room. Blood reds and cobalt blues filter in the light from the outside. Smaller sections of glass make rough and angular pictures of crosses and the sun across the span. The floor beneath him is shattered glass, powdered and covering to floor like a blanket of fine snow. Sea greens and whites glitter in the bright light of an elaborate chandelier hanging on the high ceiling. The high ceiling is painted like the chapels, how humans have pictured his kind, mostly naked and surrounded by shrouds of pale pink and grey clouds. Castiel sees the small wings, trying little things, akin to a lower class cherub. And nothing like his own or the even larger ones of his brother, fading in and out of the ether.

                “I see the wonder in your eyes Castiel. You see as a human does. Or you try.” She speaks from her seat on a wire chair in front of him. Her voice is low, almost a man’s register.

                Castiel has yet to look at her instead he busies himself with nudging his foot at the old burgundy carpet that circles the room. It’s stuffed haphazardly beneath the bookshelves which are just as worn, and the chair she sits on.

                “Why have you changed location brother, I wouldn’t have guessed you as one for such an…arbitrary arrangement.” Castiel finally takes a step forward, the glass crunches further beneath his feet.

                “Have you noticed our brothers? It’s chaos. One would find it wise to change habits. You don’t know who may be looking for you…” She drifts off, tilting her head as a long strand of dark hair falls across her shoulder. She closes the book in her lap, placing it in her own seat before fully rising. Azrael sweeps gracefully towards him on bare feet, large wings framing her thick body.

                “You would believe someone might find it in themselves to take charge of the situation.” Castiel looks up to Azrael’s steady gaze. He takes in the large pair of grey wings, dragging across the floor behind her. There’s another pair, lying across the lower and then the highest pair, almost as large as the lowest pair, hovering around her shoulders like an unusual fur collar, the powerful wings of death’s angel.

                She frowns at him, though it doesn’t reach her eyes which are glazed over in a translucent bottle green. Though she cannot physically see; her sight captures everything.

                Azrael narrows her eyes, a steady twitch beneath thick lashes. She sends something akin to glare in Castiel’s direction; he feels the grace shift uncomfortably in the room, it’s menacing and rough on his own.

                “Maybe someone of your rank can ease the minds of our family.” Castiel catches the slight upturn of Azrael’s lip.

                “I’m afraid that time has passed brother, I was once a wanted man.” Castiel’s jaw tightens slightly; he will not let her succeed in making him out as a fool.

                “Once? My brother,” She raises an eyebrow, her olive skin deep in the dim lights above them. “I’m afraid there are still some out there who seek retribution.”

                “The time to retaliate has long past Azrael, your own garrison?”

                “Long since disbanded, many of them dead, whether it be millennia ago or a year ago, they’re dying Castiel. Heaven has yet to rest.” She runs a hand down the front of his coat, like a mother smoothing a son’s suit. Carefully and deliberately. “You’ve not come to scrutinize the way I operate, what is it really Castiel?” She lifts unseeing eyes to Castiel’s. And it feels like she’s seeing every layer of him, from grace to skin.

                “It’s a human, one in my charge when my garrison was stationed on the Earth.” When she doesn’t reply he continues. “He’s lost, without his brother—Azrael you’ve taken someone close to me--”

                “Your charge, who?”

                “Do not play ignorance with me, it’s the Winchesters—”

                “Ah, the Winchesters, the world’s ever present saviors,” She purses her lips, “What use am I Castiel?”

                “I have reason to believe you may have reaped the soul of the younger Winchester a few weeks ago.” Castiel sighed resolutely, “I need him back.”

                “You want me to resurrect the boy for his brother?”

                “Dean—” Castiel pauses, shakes his head in a distraught manner before pushing past her towards her wire chair. He places the book in his lap before he takes its place. “He barely speaks, when he does…” Castiel goes quiet.

                “They can’t live forever. Why not let them wait for reunion in heaven’s fields?” Azrael follows in Castiel’s wake.

                “I can’t witness Dean the way he is brother, I blame myself for his condition.” Castiel leans forward to rest his chin in his hands.

                “Purely selfish, especially speaking of the vessels of Michael and Lucifer, and to resurrect them…?”

                “They’re locked away, there’s no breaking from the cage.” Castiel wasn’t even sure if he was speaking the truth himself, but nevertheless he took comfort in the thought.

                “That’s what we agreed on when Lucifer was locked down there, he has followers Castiel, who’s to say he still doesn’t?”

                “Michael or Lucifer, they’ve both got angels and demons waiting for them…” Castiel replies a bit dejected. “Lilith the final seal has already been broken, there’s no relocking a seal like that.”

                “I guess you’re correct to think so,” Azrael saunters to his side, taking the seat beside him on the old carpet, her wings rustling briefly before settling down behind her. “Castiel,” she begins delicately, “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed.”

                “About what?”

                “I was not the one to reap Sam Winchester, but I can help find his location if that’s what you need.”

                “Brother, then who does?” Castiel turns his head to look down at her.

                “I expect the Horseman does. Reaps more than I do these days,” she adds as more of an afterthought.

                “Can you help me find Sam’s location?” Castiel murmurs.

                “I may help.”

                “How long will it take?” Castiel replies sternly.

                “There’s no estimate, patience Castiel, await my call. Take care of your charge.” She reaches up to cup the side of Castiel’s neck with her hand.

                Castiel blinks and he’s standing in his motel room.

…

                The next few days of work pass without much incident. Castiel has managed to get Dean to read him a full passage from the mythology book he’d brought him. Coincidently it had been about angels. Angels from theology and Christian faith, of messengers and warriors and prayer, though Dean grew tired quickly, Castiel tried to keep him entertained when he was awake. Castiel himself told Dean about angels in his own experience. He told him about archangels, especially the one of death. Castiel owed that one to very recent experience though he gave credit to the books. His namesake Cassiel never came up though. It isn’t often Dean’s in a conscious state, but when he sees the book, his eyes light up and his speaking is a bit more fluid. He doesn’t drift off or stare at the ceiling as much as he usually did. Castiel counts that as an improvement.

[](http://www.flickr.com/photos/96864429@N07/10071018975/)

                In the back of the old looking book, there was a section on monsters. Castiel had a hope that it would somehow help Dean regain his footing so to speak.

                “Reapers…Cas?” Dean cradles the book in his hands, his fingers tracing the worn pages. “They’re real?” Dean stares wide eyed at Castiel.

                “Who knows,” Castiel takes the book from Dean, “No one’s ever seen one. Do you think you have?”

                Dean shakes his head eagerly. “Have you Cas?”

                “I’m afraid I haven’t Dean—”

                “The only people who’ve seen them are people who’re about to die…right?” Dean asks.

                “I suppose. I’ve heard nothing different—” He sees Dean rub at his eyes. “You’re tired.”

                “I’m not Cas.” Dean assures him in a small voice. Castiel still finds the lack of growling in Dean’s voice a bit unusual.

                “Rest Dean, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Castiel smiles at Dean then rises from his chair and heads out the room.

                Castiel makes his way through the mostly empty halls. Patients head to toe in off white ensembles speak to each other and some of the staff in hushed tones. He’s unable to decipher much as he makes his way past them.

                Colleagues nod good naturedly at him as he passes; Castiel just swallows past a dry throat and makes his way to a break room for a coffee.

                “You’d think spending all day with that patient would mess with your head. Eh Cas?” A fellow employee says offhandedly, stirring his own coffee. The spoon clanks loudly against the sides of the mug with each turn.

                “I don’t mind, it calms him,” Castiel caps the paper cup then takes a sip, it burns his tongue but he swallows it anyway. “It’s the least I can do.”

                “I guess if that’s what you want Cas.” He replies, brushes some dust off his name tag that reads Walter. “I’ll see you around then.” He raises a hand in goodbye before leaving without waiting for any reply.

                Castiel takes another sip from his full coffee before dropping it unceremoniously into the bin.

“Dean,” Castiel opens the door slowly, “Dean?” He says again lifting his head to see Dean’s bed empty. Castiel hurries across the room before stopping suddenly and dropping to his knees beside Dean who’s folded in the corner.

                “Sammy…Sammy...” Dean breathes from his hunched over position.

                With the room plunged into an olive darkness from the upturn of the blinds, Castiel finds it difficult to really see much of Dean’s expression.

                “Dean, you’re okay.” Castiel shuffles closer. Close enough to leave Dean space as well as keep him within arm’s reach.

                “Where’s Sam?” Dean grasps Castiel’s forearm.  The grip is solid enough to keep Castiel from moving.

                “Dean, are you there?” Castiel urges, eyes widening.  “Dean answer me if you can.” He presses, moving his head to see Dean’s face.              

                “Cas?” Dean’s rough voice cuts through everything, and Castiel’s heart is beating hard enough to ache.

                “Dean, is that you--are you here?” Castiel says frantically. Dean speaking directly to him like he knows him has Castiel’s every breath burning; just the thought that he may be conscious has Castiel in an almost panic.

                “Sorry…Cas, I never meant…..” Dean murmurs, “Is that you?” Dean raises his head in Castiel’s direction. The amount of familiarity in Dean’s eyes in that moment has Castiel’s pulse beating at breakneck speed.

                “Hello Dean,” Castiel takes Dean’s hand into his own, to his surprise Dean’s hand tightens around his. It’s comforting and overwhelming. Everything Castiel missed about Dean and subsequently suppressed comes rushing forth, twisting and knotting in his stomach.     

“I missed you Cas,” Dean shifts closer but it’s Castiel who closes the distance between them.

                “I need you Dean,” Castiel kisses the top of his head, “Are you okay?” He’s finding himself fighting against his own urge to cry. The affection for Dean, having him in his arms, curls hotly inside him, burns his cheeks.

                “That damn fight….I didn’t mean it, Cas. Any of it…..” Dean’s head begins to fall forward.

                “I understand. I never left you Dean,” Castiel takes Dean’s face in his hand. Feel the warm skin, the pale freckles that littered his cheeks. He stares into eyes that recognize him, a green he’d almost forgotten the color of.

                “I see,” Dean curves his head to hide on Castiel’s shoulder. “I’m glad you never left,” his lip quivers.

                “Your eyes—” Castiel’s whispering in broken tones.

                Dean hums against Castiel’s throat, “…Am I crying or something?” There’s a light chuckle, out of place in the silence.

                “I may be Dean,” Castiel watches Dean’s blunt nails dig into the cotton blend of his shirt. “It’s been weeks, it’s difficult without you. I couldn’t imagine it and now I’m living it.”

                “Well….” Dean drifts off, Castiel waits in the quiet, he’ll wait as long as he must if it means Dean will keep talking.

                It’s when Dean’s hand loosens and drops from his shirt that Castiel becomes concerned.

                “Dean?” There’s uneasiness in his gut and he feels it twisting inside him with each breath. He turns his head, takes Dean’s face into his hands and brings him back into his sightline. Dean’s eyes are closed, his hand fallen and halfway back into his own lap.

                The fear that Dean’s gone again is already beginning to consume him. Castiel rubs Dean’s shoulder gently, using his body to ask a question he can’t seem to form into words.

                “…Cas?” Dean’s head rises, and simultaneously Castiel’s heart drops into his stomach.

                “Dean you’re fine.” He says as calmly as he can manage, inside he’s panicking.

                “…..sleep.” He mumbles. Castiel nods standing to help Dean to his feet.

                “Dean, what were you doing on the floor when I walked in?” Castiel asks, nudging Dean towards his bed with his hand.

                Dean yawns, “Exploring, I guess.” He lies down on the sheets.

                Neither of them speak again that day.

                Castiel stays there for the rest of his shift, smoothing the blankets with hands that need to do something. He feels himself crumbling. Just those few precious minutes with Dean were enough to unseat him, to shake the resolve he had of staying with Dean.

                All those weeks ago, Dean had told him to get lost when he refused to help resurrect Sam. It broke both of them on the inside. And against everything Castiel thought, he left and gave Dean the space he thought he needed. Castiel regrets it. He’s angry at Dean for being so stubborn. For not leaning on him despite the strong longing to.

                Part of him, albeit a small piece, wants to leave Dean on his own, the way he’d wanted originally. However, he knows he’d never do something like that, never to Dean. The least he can do is try to help any sort of recovery there may be by finding Sam.

                The drive to the motel is silent and Castiel barely remembers stopping at a convenience store for the hard liquor until he’s lying in his bed with an empty bottle in front of his face.

                He’s grimacing into the pillow with his fists curling into the sheets. With a determined huff of breath, Castiel throws the sheets behind him and continues to kick at them until they’ve hit the floor. He’s writhing on the bed, hands pulling at his clothes, clumsy fingers pressing at buttons and pushing at pants until he’s lying there in his underwear, tired and bitter. He yearns for another drink but the bottles lie scattered across the floor out of his reach.

                Castiel flops lazily onto his back, stretches across the bed then closes his eyes.

                The morning hits him out of nowhere. Sun rays making him burrow instinctively deeper into the pile of pillows at his head board. He moans deeply, a bit dejected at the prospect of waking. With the light safely away from his eyes and the throbbing slowly building behind them, he sighs and thinks of a better time.

                A time with Dean next to him.

                Mornings were never this bad when Dean was there slotted against him with his hips and hands. Though Dean wasn’t much of a morning person either, together the ass crack of dawn didn’t seem as hellish. In fact Castiel would go far enough to say it was actually quite pleasant. Dean would speak in low slow tones, the kind that made Castiel harden in his underwear.

                Dean would always joke about it, even though Castiel never laughed about any of the erection jokes he came up with when his brain barely functioned, it at least always seemed to astound Castiel.

                He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could. If he had to go to work that day he may just down more alcohol in hopes they send him home.

                But the thought of Dean there, without him, even if the others picked up his slack, it kept him from completely relaxing. It was getting quite warm beneath the fort of pillow piled around his head, Castiel shifted, his hands grasping—

                Cold floor.

                Essentially nothing.

                Castiel’s eyes snapped open, much to his dismay, against the bright light.

                “Get up Castiel,” Her voice resonates inside his head, bouncing and jabbing at the ache there.

                “Azrael?” Castiel whispers, it’s raspy. “…my clothes?” There’s a distinct shuffling above him and the soft of fabric landing against him promptly proceeded.

                “Put them on you’re not decent.” She’s pacing around him when he finally sits up and rubs at his eyes with one hand and begins messing with his clothes with the other. Azrael had changed locations from the run down chapel to some large house in the mountains; Castiel breathes in the thin air and tries to concentrate.

                “Have you found him? Sam?” Castiel heaves briefly holding back some drink that threatens to rise again.

                “Matter of fact, I have.”

                “Brother, I’m glad you’ve found him, but I’ve got my charge to look after—”

                “Your priorities, brother, are unorthodox at best. Finding his brother, I thought that was the key to his recovery? Was I supposed to wait? I can send you back and wait until the Mass of Christ to call upon you—”

                “No,” Castiel cuts in, stumbling to his feet, his wings fade into the reality to fan out and steady him.

                Azrael lifts an eyebrow, “I’ve forgotten you had any, trying so hard to suppress them Castiel, are you really living among human as one of them?”

                “Where is he?” Castiel scrambles into his pants, his stomach churning uncomfortably with the movement. All he wants to do is lie there and stew in all the various aches.

                “Good news, the younger Winchester resides in heaven. Fortunately no trips into the pit are necessary.”

                “How did you find his heaven this quickly?” Castiel’s fingers fumble embarrassingly with the buttons of his shirt yet Azrael stares on and makes no move to help him.

                “Talking to other angels mostly, the ones who weren’t afraid to mention the Winchesters, they’ve got quite the reputation.”

                “Wha—of course they’ve got one,” Castiel slides through his sentence, dropping to his knees onto the old checkered tile to make his way near Azrael’s feet where his shoes sit.

                “You’ve been drinking. I didn’t want to mention but it’ll be a little inconvenient for you. I’m a bit disappointed.”                

                “Why—why would this be a problem?” He slides on a shoe without the sock.

                “You can’t even sort out why this would be a problem Castiel. But nevertheless, your state does not erase this complication we may have.” She flicks out a hand and her wire chair appears next to her.

                “Yes and what is this complication?” Castiel grits out.

                “Impatience will not help anyone.” She sits down and takes a measured breath, like a miniature meditation. “Sam Winchester’s heaven has been found, but there’s the matter of actually reaching it.” She says, a hand smoothing through a wing on her left.

                “We can’t reach it? Implying?” Castiel sits ungracefully on the floor, legs splayed and his trench coat halfway on one arm.

                “It’s been barred from my grace any angel’s grace as well as the host itself. Nothing can breach it.” Azrael crosses her legs, leans back.

                “What do we do?” Is all Castiel can really think of saying.

                “Your help is truly awe inspiring brother.” She says to the air, “It means, the reaper of Sam Winchester is Death himself. It means, if we want to proceed in any way, I suggest summoning Death as a future endeavor.”

                “Oh,” Castiel burps.

                She purses her lips at him, “Oh. However, it appears I’ll be summoning him all on my own—”

                “Why can’t I be present?”

                “Have you seen yourself? We won’t be taken seriously Castiel, if you know what good for both of us, it’ll be you staying behind until I call upon you again.”

                “I can be there brother, give me a chance—”

                “No chances, I’m not one to waste the only chance we may have of convincing him to free Sam’s heaven. Even if it is for only you or me.”

                “Why are you so adamant of helping me?” Castiel rasps, his head drooping.

                “Those boys did save the world Castiel, have you forgotten? Maybe it’s your turn to save them? Sit with me brother,” She takes note of his slumping position of the floor. “Castiel may I suggest we walk out in the garden? Put on your coat, I’ll clear your head if I must.” She says as a second thought.

                “Yes brother.” Castiel says without dispute. Dean can fare with the others for a day if it means his rehabilitation is a foreseeable event.  

Instead of transporting them into said garden, she leads Castiel down a flight of white stairs; Castiel can feel the give of the planks with each step. Azrael eventually takes a hold of his sleeve like an over eager sibling and leads him out the front door.

                The door closes with a dull thud and once Castiel reaches the outside he sees how extensive the house really is. Towers flank the high walls, ridges of peeling white paint, the shingles dark and covered in autumn leaves. The bulk of the house as one main section with three floors, the highest contained a precarious looking veranda, potted plants with nothing but old soil inside them littered the window sills and handrails. Tall oaks reached the sky on either side of the main path, Castiel is close enough to touch one, feel the energy within as Azrael abruptly pushes him off of the main path onto a side one. It’s made up of worn flat stones, covered with dirt.    

                Castiel breathes in the cold air, lets it burn on the way in, and looks up into the cloudy sky. He wonders if they’re even on earth. That they may be in heaven in someone else’s world, a memory.

                His head is much too clouded to think beyond that so he settles with what’s in front of him. Azrael leading him around the house, her wings arched low and graceful behind her.

                “How has your charge been lately Castiel? Tell me about him,” Her walk slinks by the rose bushes, bare feet pressing soft dirt. Her voice is light and dainty across the air and Castiel can hear her perfectly.

                Castiel stays silent a moment longer, the idea of telling her about Dean seemed so difficult. He’d barely dwelled on it himself. Much less spilled his guts to another angel, but perhaps she is one of the few who he can trust.

                “Just curious Castiel,” Azrael says softly there’s pure curiosity lacing her words. “Tell me about his state. How is he?” She asks again.

                His head is beginning to throb again. Castiel’s caught between explaining things and stopping the incoming vomit he feels rising in his gut. He figures Azrael’s letting him deal with the consequences of what he’d done. In this case the headache and murkiness in his brain.

                “He’s doing fine.” Castiel says instead.

                “Don’t lie brother. It’s only too easy to identify your change in behavior, you don’t ingest that much alcohol every day after work do you?” She flits past strands of overgrown hydrangeas bright blue even in the overcast. And in this light, Castiel finds it hard to see her as the angel of death.

                Through all the wonder she appears to retain through all the death dealings, she’s an entity that’s difficult to imagine in this manner, better believable as an angel of growth or plant life or something.

                “Dean—he was doing well. He read to me the other day. He even stayed up longer than usual.” Castiel widens his strides to catch up to her, earning him a brush against the cheek with a wing tip.

                She doesn’t apologize. “Sounds like a well behaved child Castiel, not exactly what you want though I’d expect.” Azrael turns a corner, wings brushing the hedges, “What was he like before?”

                “Why do you want to know?” He follows her around the corner, the constant circling giving him just a hint of nausea. “Brother, can you just slow—”

                Castiel stops as he’s met with a cobblestone square, the fountain in the middle is dried up. The centerpiece displays a sculpted swan with wings outstretched; the stone withered away from weather and neglect. There’s dark moss climbing across the fixtures.

                Azrael takes a seat on the worn stone rim of the pool, her wings fading behind her.

                “Dean hasn’t been well Castiel –”

                “I understand that,” Castiel frowns in resignation before taking a seat beside her. “I was trying to take everything he did and label it as an improvement so I could sympathize better with myself about abandoning him.” Castiel saw no reason to hide from her. She’d acquire it from him in one way or another.

                “You’re trying brother, he may recover and he may not, I will not build you false hope. The only thing we can do is find Sam Winchester. He is our key. Castiel you are the catalyst.”

                “I’m not significant enough—” Castiel swallows, “the other day—Dean—he spoke to me. He knew who I was and I couldn’t do anything to keep him stabilized. I had him and before I could even consider action—”He stops, jaw tense.

                “You spoke to him. Am I right to assume that change in behavior was what triggered you?” She sees the minute nod of his head then continues, “Dean is there Castiel, don’t ignore that fact.”

                “I know it was him, we—”

                “Speak freely brother, your relationship does not distress me.” Azrael says softly.

                Castiel licks his dry bottom lip, “The way he looked at me—He’s tired brother. In every way. He speaks—when he speaks, it’s like a child, he needs help. He still wonders what’s out there.” Castiel chuckles bitterly.

                “Castiel,” She looks at the ground, plucks a wildflower from a stock growing at the base of the pool and proceeds to shred it in her fingers, “I will summon Death. But still do not want you present.” She says with finality, letting the little pieces fall to her feet.

                Castiel does not argue, his head is mostly clear. He feels like he’s back in heaven, the feeling of millions of different graces swirling around him and comforting him in the worst ways. “Yes.”

 

…

 

                Castiel lands in his motel, he’s barely realized that himself when he hears a shriek behind him.

Sitting on the paisley couch near the door is Amelia, a gun clutched tightly in her hands.

                “What are you doing here?” Castiel observes the windows behind her, it’s nightfall.

                “Wondering where you were,” she says easily, clicking on the safety then placing the gun on the coffee table between them. “Your current “employment” called when you didn’t show up, I’m apparently one of your emergency contacts.” She sounds a bit skeptical herself.

                “I uh…You were the only…” Castiel shrugs as if that would explain everything. He had forgotten all of that process.

                “I thought behind Sam and Dean of course but—” Amelia waves her hand airily. “Not that it’s any of my business but where were you?”

                “Did you pick the lock? And how did you find this place anyway?” Castiel says instead, he’s adamant at keeping his whereabouts to himself. He pulls an arm out of his coat.

                “Phone gps. I thought it was unusual when you didn’t answer. Luckily it was on.” Her eyes follow the motion of the coat as Castiel throws it onto the lone bed. She blinks quickly, “When I found the room I was a bit worried, the impala was there but you weren’t and neither was Dean. I knocked but there was no answer. So second best thing?” She scrunches her nose.

                “Second best.” Castiel repeats lowly more to himself.

                “So you work at the mental facility,” Amelia prompts cautiously, “I thought you guys were going back to your life on the road?”

                “Dean, he—he changed his mind, thought we’d stay around for a bit.” Castiel begins loosening his tie despite the overwhelming urge to begin tightening it.

                “I see,”

                “What did you tell them?” Castiel lifts his head and casts a serious look in her direction.

                “I told them you were too sick to call and it’d slipped my mind to do so in your place.”

                “Good.” He says shortly. All he wants is to be left alone and bide his time until Azrael summons him again.

                “So where’s Dean?” her brows furrow as she settles into his couch.

                “There was a case. He figured he could manage on his own.” Castiel replies without hesitation.

                “Cas,” She begins delicately, “Dean isn’t on a hunting trip is he?”

                Castiel freezes in his spot, “Dean’s just fine. I talked to him yesterday.” He’s only half lying.

                “I was asking because this morning when I called, your colleague gave me an update of a patient of yours. His name happened to be Dean.” Amelia goes silent, waits for Castiel to say something.

                “It’s none of your business.” Castiel manages to choke out.

                “I’m not gonna make you tell me Cas. But you made it my business the second you wrote my name on your contacts.” She purses her lips, neither angry nor content. 

                Instead of answering, Castiel perches down on the edge of the bed his back to her before he leans down and begins untying his shoes.

                “That’s Dean in there isn’t it Cas?” Amelia stands and makes her way to him. “They said he was fine by the way,” She says softening, hoping to ease the tension that rapidly thickening.

                “I never said that was him,” Castiel turns his head to look at her when she takes the spot next to him.

                “You might as well have Cas, you didn’t exactly deny it.” She gives him a slight smile, the benefit of the doubt. Amelia edges next to him, not quite touching but close enough to. “I want to help, in any way I can Cas.”

                Pregnant moments pass in silence, there was no use in alluding her now, and to be completely honest, Castiel isn’t as upset as he thought he would’ve been. He finally glances back at her, Amelia’s eyes are hopeful and in that moment he believes maybe he should have told her earlier.

                “It is Dean,” Castiel sighs. He sees Amelia’s eyes drop at the confirmation. “He’s been there since the funeral.” He says at last.

                “Sam…” She drifts off crossing her arms. Castiel sees her curling in on herself, to her the loss is still quite fresh.

                “I knew Dean would take it hard, he searched for a while.  He was looking for a way to resurrect him. I told him not to. To leave it alone. A fight proceeded. And I left.” Castiel chews his lip. There’s regret pooling in his eyes.

                “You came back?” Her voice is small.

                “I wanted to, I assumed space for Dean would benefit him and when I returned he would perhaps depend on me,” Castiel swipes at his cheek with the back of his hand. The ache in his temple has returned, and chewing his cheek doesn’t help. “I found him. Well, the police did technically. He was in our motel room; the manager had come to inform him that his check out time had passed. Dean was just sitting there in the room. Just sitting. The authorities were called and he was taken away. I chose to stay behind to collect his things and take the impala before it was impounded. I made some inquiries and found Dean at the mental facility. I had to watch over him. So I had them employ me.” Castiel explains deftly. He’s fiddling with his fingers. Anything to avoid looking at her and letting the steady ache push forward.

                “Oh,” Amelia mumbles. She lifts a hand; it hovers briefly in the air before dropping back in her lap.

                “Dean’s doing what he can.” Castiel says vaguely. He hated to somehow renew the pain she was filling. In the end it was another loss, for both of them. It was just another empty space in their lives where someone should be.

                Her eyes are stinging slightly with the thoughts of Dean. And Sam. And despite them both suffering from loss after loss the aching never dissipated or became lesser or easier to deal with.  

                “Cas,” She says softly, resolutely. “I want to see him. If that’s fine.” She adds quickly.

                Castiel has a look that could classify her as half-crazy or really stupid. She’d like to believe the first.

                “I want to Cas,” Amelia presses. “I want to help.”

                Castiel’s almost touched, there’s affection for Amelia already reddening his cheeks.

                “Dean isn’t the same,” Nonetheless he tries in vain to change her decision.

                “It’s okay, Dean is like a brother to me now Castiel.” She gives him a broken smile.

                Castiel contemplates; maybe Dean needs to see someone else, someone who isn’t him.

                “Tomorrow towards the end of my shift, if that’s fine.” Castiel says gravely.

                “Thank you.”  

 

…

                The day passes by uneventful. Dean’s interacting with him more than usual. It pleases Castiel more than he’d like to admit. Castiel’s also happy that Dean managed to retain some information from the previous week. He even asked about Sam, not who he is or any of the introductory things, but other aspects of his personality.

                “Sam.” The word is light on Dean’s lips. For some reason it feels so familiar but he can’t seem to figure out why. “My brother.” He says like he’s known that for years. And truly he has.

                “He is Dean and he’s proud to have you.” Castiel replies, patting the bed beside him. Dean places the picture back against the small lamp and wanders around the bed to sit next in the spot Castiel had designated.

                “Dean.”

                “Hmm?” Dean’s looking down at his lap.

                The door shifts open before Castiel can continue Evelyn pads through the doorway. She smiles at Castiel. “You’ve got a visitor right outside,” she’s grinning at Dean as well. “Do you want me to send her in?”

                “If you could.”

                Evelyn nods and leaves.

                “I’ve got a visitor Cas?” Dean sounds surprised.

                “Why not?”

                “No one visits me Cas. Except for Sam, I’ve got no other family.” The full weight of the statement only hits Castiel. There’s the familiar burn in his chest, the one he’s been drowning with alcohol lately.

                “She’s a friend of Sam’s.” Castiel tries to soften the hard words.

                “Really?” Dean messes nervously with the hem of his shirt.

                “Yes, her name is Amelia.”

                Dean’s eyes widen and Castiel barely has time to ask why before Dean’s bending back over the bed floundering for something on the nightstand.

                “Is that her?” Dean sits back up and points to the picture in his hand. He is indeed pointing to Amelia who’s standing next to Sam. He’s got his arm around her.

                “Yes—” The door’s opening and there’s Amelia wandering in her eyes automatically lock on Dean and she’s wringing her hands anxiously, her hands pale in comparison to the maroon skirt she’s wearing, her lips in a tight line. Castiel had asked for Evelyn to retrieve her out of his fear had he left he’d come back and find Dean curled up in the corner again. That he’d be himself again. And the thought of just how easily that could happen left Castiel irrationally fearful and apprehensive.

                She stands stiffly in front of Castiel, he places a comforting hand on her arm and she slowly lowers herself into the chair at Dean’s bedside.

                “Hello Dean. I’m Amelia.” She looks to him, her palm pressing and wrinkling the bed sheets on Castiel’s right out of Dean’s sight.

                “Cas says you’re a friend of Sam’s.” Dean starts and the second he mentions Sam, Amelia stiffens slightly in her seat.

                “Yes I am.” Amelia can’t stop the tear prickling at the corner of her eye from falling. She hastily wipes at her eyes.

                “How have you been Dean? Sam’s told me so much about you.” Amelia leans forward, her hand finding and covering Castiel’s own which is hidden by his thigh. It’s trembling.

                “He has?” Dean’s abruptly silent and Castiel can tell he has further inquiries however he’ll wait until it’s just Castiel to ask them.

                “He says you’re so brave, the bravest brother he’s ever had.” Amelia says steadily, though her bottom lip trembles just the slightest bit.

                “Sam said those things?”

                “He did. The only older brother he wants. He needs you Dean.” Amelia says softly.

                “Where is he?” Dean’s overcome with curiosity. He speaks like the door may open again and this supposed brother will stroll through. Just the thought has Castiel dragging his eyes over to the door as well and Dean drops his own foolishly.

                Amelia is the first to speak, “He’s—he’s on a trip sweetheart. He misses you. So much.” Her hand tightens around Castiel’s and he rotates his hand to return the pressure.

                Dean’s smile falters but he recovers, rubbing his nose with his palm to busy himself.  

                He doesn’t speak much after that. The social interaction wearied him down after he hadn’t much other than to Castiel.

                Amelia’s hand is slow to leave Castiel’s but she soon stands and gives Dean a tight hug. She holds on a second too long, but the only one who notices is Castiel. Before leaving she tells Castiel she’ll be waiting outside when his shift ends. They both thought it’d be easier for him to take her home after his shift.

                Dean falls asleep within minutes of her departure. And by then Castiel’s shift is about over. He stays a few extra minutes to watch Dean before excusing himself.

                It’s dusk and warm gusts of air chafe at Castiel’s skin as he heads around the building to the parking lot. Amelia’s standing on the passenger’s side, leaning against the impala, her eyes on her phone when he approaches.

                “Hey Cas,” Amelia greets with a wave of her hand, stowing the phone in the side pocket of her purse.

                Castiel gives her a tight smile as he unlocks the doors and gets inside. Amelia sits down beside him as the engine purrs to life. He’s pulling out of the parking lot when Amelia finds a voice.

                “I’m so sorry Cas,” She chokes out, eyes glassy.

                He narrows his eyes, “There’s nothing to be sorry about, it’s not your fault—” He begins coldly when Amelia lets loose a light chuckle. “What?”

                “He acts like a little angel.” She looks down at her lap. There’s a gentleness there that Castiel could mistake her for speaking about her own child.  “I miss him.” Castiel doesn’t know which brother she’s referring to. Knowing her it’s probably both of them.

                “He’s improved greatly since when he first arrived.” Castiel says eyes on the road. “He barely spoke, now he refers to me by name.”

                “It must be so difficult for you, I’m overwhelmed already.”

                “It is. But I manage.” _And I’ll always manage. For Dean._ Castiel feels a swoop in his stomach and the car almost swerves.

                “Are you searching for anything that could help recovery?” She leans over the divide, low and conspiratorial.

                “Searching, but no luck yet.” He lies, his grip on the steering wheel tightens. Castiel decides against telling her of a plan that may ultimately fail in the end. He doesn’t want to raise anyone’s hopes, including his own.

                Amelia lets loose a tired sigh, shifting back to her seat, “I hope—I want this all to work out.”

                They spend a few minutes to their thoughts. It’s already a slightly sore topic, despite that talking about it is the only way to help the situation.

                Amelia is the first to try changing the topic.

                “So,” She twiddles her thumbs in her lap, “You live in that motel?” She sounds like she’d been holding it in for a while.

                “For the time being.” Castiel replies frowning, “Why exactly are you asking?” Castiel admits he is a little ashamed of the place, however not enough to seriously consider a change in location.

                “I was just wondering. No big reason.” She smirks out the window.

                “Just tell me. Whatever it is, I doubt it’ll be of consequence.” He turns an eye towards her.

                “It’s just a spur of the moment thought. But Cas, if you don’t mind—I don’t know you could move in?” Amelia says in a rush. “The house is pretty big when it’s only one person and—and—” she’s staring down at her lap, cheeks full of color. “We’ve got a guest bedroom it was for you and Dean when you’d visit anyway—” she cuts herself off.

                “I suppose it is a better environment,” He says to keep her from wilting in embarrassment. “It could be more cost effective.” He adds in an afterthought.

                “So is it a yes?”

                “I suppose.” Watching her light up gave him satisfaction; she’d been barely smiling for weeks now. They could both use the company.

                “It’s your day off tomorrow; I could come over sometime and help pack up or something.”

                “Of course, I’ll expect you.”

…

                A merry little knock wakes him the next morning. Castiel tumbles out of bed, sans pants to open the door to keep her from waiting.

                Amelia follows him in without much prompting, closing the door behind her before sitting down on the couch, eyes wandering around the room when Castiel heads into the bathroom with a bundle of clothes in his hands.

                “I’ve got a few boxes in the back of the car if you need them but I don’t think…you’ve got much.” She frowns, eyes scanning the barren room. Other than the default furnishings present in the room all Castiel had was a half open duffle beside the bed and some toiletries littering the counter when the bathroom door opened.

                “That’s true,” Castiel says emerging from the bathroom in some faded jeans and a worn shirt. He sniffs at the shirt, it smells like Dean.

                “So,” She claps her hands together, “Should we check you out of here and see if we can get you a refund for the weeks you’re no longer using?”

                “I suppose. I don’t think it’s refundable—”

                “Let me try. Give me your ID.” Amelia holds out her hand expectantly.

                The packing is relatively quick, Castiel stuffs everything he can fit into his duffle, it appears overstuffed once he forces the zipper closed. Everything else, the books and work clothes and various toiletries find their way into a medium sized cardboard box.

                He’s placing the box in the back seat of the impala when he sees Amelia exiting the manager’s suite. She’s got a crinkly brown bag in her arms.

                “Do you have everything?” Amelia says breathlessly when she reaches him.

                Castiel nods.

                “Alright, I managed to get back what I you didn’t use.” She pushes the weighty bag into his arms. “I checked out for you so I suggest we go before he changes his mind.” She smiles mischievously at him before heading to her own car, digging her keys from her pocket as she goes.

                It feels weird to leave the motel, not that he had many memories he’d miss from the place, but because he’d spent so long there. Castiel feels relieved to be leaving. With this move he hopes comes better fortune and a step in the right direction to Dean’s recovery.

                The house is quite big considering it’s just Amelia living there alone.

                It’s two floors, pale green with white trimmings and newly painted. Castiel’s got his duffle slung on one shoulder and Amelia had offered to carry the box. She balances the box in her arms as she unlocks the door and pushes it open with her foot to let them in.

                “Your room is upstairs, I’ll show you.” She heads up the stairs, the box still in her arms. Castiel follows her. The floor is fuzzy cream colored carpet with a bathroom across the hall and Castiel feels accommodated. The room consists of a lone king sized bed. It makes him feel slightly empty knowing that Dean was supposed to fill it with him.

Castiel places the duffle on the floor beside a wooden dresser. Amelia had already put the box on the edge of the bed.

                “This is it—” She fans her arms out in welcome.

                “This is—this is better than I expected.” Castiel paces the room as Amelia crosses her arms.

                “Well at least it’s not worse,” She replies, “I figured we could both use the company.”

                “One more thing.” Castiel mumbles to himself. He dashes out of the room. Amelia can hear him trudging down the stairs. He returns a minute later another duffle in his arms. He goes straight for the dresser and opens the door. Castiel places it safely at the bottom. He runs his hand across the fabric measured and slow, affectionate before closing the door.

                “Dean’s?” She asks softly.

                “Yeah,” Castiel steps back.

                “I can go get lunch ready, do you want to help me by any chance?” Amelia says invitingly, warmly.

                “I can’t exactly refuse you can I?”

                “Nope.”

                On the ground floor, the kitchen’s equipped with granite counters and an island in the middle, a bowl of fruit on top of it. There’s all the various appliances uptop the counters shiny and new. Many of them were house-warming gifts. A polished wooden dinner table stands across from the kitchen. They quickly settle on sandwiches for a brunch situation at only ten in the morning.

                Castiel’s halfway done with his turkey sandwich when he notices Amelia straighten her shirt and grab her keys from the coffee table in the living room.

                Castiel raises an eyebrow and gives a questioning stare, waiting until she notices.

                She finally turns and her eyes are wide like a deer when she meets Castiel’s eyes.

                “Oh, I um, I guess I should tell you where I’m going.” She looks around for a distraction and when she finds none she continues, “Since I had a few more hours before work, I thought I’d visit Sam. I’d bought him some new flowers.” She laughs about the ridiculousness of it all.

                “You can go, it’s no problem.” Castiel turns back to his sandwich. He didn’t expect it to come out as childish as it did because next thing Amelia’s asking if he’d like to come. Despite Castiel’s insistence of not joining her and leaving her some privacy, she told him they’d had enough of that in the last few weeks. Amelia grabs a hold of his arm and practically drags him back out the door.

                They take her car this time. It’s a small silver compact. The ride is smooth and Castiel feels out of place when he doesn’t hear the rattling in the vents or the loud rumbling of the engine. There’s a small modest bouquet of flowers in the back seat. They reach the cemetery within half an hour. Amelia exits the car in silence. She gives Castiel a placating smile then closes the door. Opening the passenger’s seat door to reach the flowers, Castiel hastily gets out the car as well.

                The cemetery is in a partial stillness, the wind is rustling tree branches and there’s bird’s chirping incessantly from the tops. They walk the main path in dappled shadow, the sun’s warm and already beating hot before noon. Amelia’s fingers grip the stems of the flowers like a dying man holds a life saver. Castiel’s at a loss at how to comfort her. So he does nothing.

                Once again they’re standing in front of a granite stone, glinting and polished in the sun light. It’s says _SAMUEL WINCHESTER: Husband and Brother and Son. “After all, how often do we get a second chance?”_ Is the quote it bares towards the bottom in crisp black print.

                Amelia reads it over again for the hundredth time before placing the blooms at the base. She stands back and clenches her fists.

                “…God,” She whispers in frustration, “Sam? I just wanted to visit. I thought you’d like the company. Um Cas is here as well,” Amelia grabs Castiel’s arm, her grip is tight. Castiel withstands it if it helps in any way. She looks up at Castiel and gives him an expectant look.

                “Sam,” Castiel starts respectfully. He has no idea what to say, Sam was dear to him without a doubt, however Castiel finds it difficult coming up with something. Amelia’s next to him, her breaths are shuddering and light.

                “You’re very missed, one of the family, our small family that you’ll always be a part of.” Castiel says lowly, Amelia lets loose a soft sob and covers her mouth with her hand.

                “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring Dean sweetheart, he isn’t well.”

                Amelia’s hand slips from his sleeve, dangling tiredly at her side. She takes a deep breath. “Sam, I wish you could’ve spent more time here, I miss you so much. I bet you’re getting tired of all these wishes and apologies. I love you so so much.” Her voice shakes and she clenches her fists.

                “Sam,” Castiel steps closer to Amelia, and Sam’s grave. “Dean—he’ll be okay. I’ll watch over him. I’m an angel right? Dean’s angel, but I’ll return to heaven for you Sam.” Castiel says and he means it, Amelia’s managed to wrap her hand around his forearm this time. But the grip is weak and it’s just the sleeve she’s pulling at.

                “Amelia, walk with me.” He moves her hand away with his own, ready to replace the touch with an arm across her back. She leans into him.

                “Did you mean that Cas?” She asks as soon as they’re far enough away from Sam’s plot, like she doesn’t want him in to hear. “You’ll go to heaven for him?”

                “Yes, I believe it’s time I tell you the plan.”

                Castiel doesn’t understand his sudden change of heart, but he knows telling Amelia will help both of them. He hopes it’ll ease her, even just a little.

                Recently Castiel’s begun to find it unsettling to see her crying. Like a child begging to be comforted, but this was different. Mourning brought on a pain very unlike any scraped knee could. He wants to sooth her and if it means telling her what he’s been up to then so be it.

                “You want to find him up there?”

                “Yes, I want to speak with him. Update him on the state of matters. He could help.”

                “Do you really think he could?” Her voice is raspy. “Help us, I mean.”

                “It’s currently one of the only solutions I’ve thought of. If it helps Dean I want to do it.” His jaw clenches.

                Castiel leads them to a bench beneath a large oak. He sits down and Amelia wastes no time in joining him. Close to enough their thighs touch, her hands are buried in her lap and she’s fighting tears again.

                “That’s reasonable.” She replies.

                “I’d hope so. I don’t want this done in vain. I want Sam to know everything that’s happened.”

                “I would like to know too.” She lets out a bitter chuckle. It’s then he realizes the extent of the crack tearing through them both. It’s deep and invisible, hidden beneath clothes and skin and blood and heart.

                “When are you leaving?” She asks and Castiel doesn’t know she’s referring to heaven right away.

                “My brother will call upon me. When she has located him.”

                “Oh,” She says, “thank you for what you said to Sam. You guys aren’t very adept when it comes to telling each other these kinds of things sometimes. I don’t think it would hurt if you guys said those things more often.”

                “We try.” Is all Castiel says.

                They head back after fifteen minutes. Amelia idles around Sam’s grave briefly. Runs her hands across the smooth stone and whispering what Castiel thinks are prayers. She mutters another goodbye and lets Castiel lead her back to the car. Castiel suggests he drives and Amelia readily hands him the keys. She sits in the passenger’s seat with her head in her hands. She’s alternating between wiping at her eyes and staring out the window.

                Amelia takes a while in the bathroom, the one across from her own room on the ground floor. He gives her time to gather her thoughts.  Much like he had to do alone on the first night without Dean. That was a night of painful silence, only the sound of swishing alcohol to company him.

                She leaves for work thirty minutes later. Tells him there are leftovers in the fridge if he gets hungry later. Castiel in turn tells her not to worry if he’s not there when she gets back.

                Castiel lies across his bed, nestles his face into the covers. Amelia’s already gone. He wonders what Dean may be doing right then. Evelyn takes his shift on his days off. Castiel trusts her and the way she treats the Dean the way he does only solidifies that trust. Dean’s probably reading or telling her some story he thought he dreamed. Castiel smiles in spite of himself.

                Dean could have been worse. And he was worse initially. Dean would rock back and forth on the bed, his knees drawn up close, with Sam’s name spilling from his lips. He said it like it was the only word he knew and something told Castiel it probably was. He didn’t eat. Anything he did manage to get down would end up in a bucket an hour later. Dean was rapidly thinning. Castiel remembers the slightly risen bums across his skin, ribs poking up against the skim of Castiel’s fingers. He had eyes like a dead person, unseeing and colorless. He wasn’t Dean, not in the least. Even Evelyn didn’t want to enter the room at first, it made her uncomfortable. Castiel didn’t blame her, but she trusted Castiel and they helped each other.

                Even before that, Dean’s real voice rings in his ears. It’s the fight that made Castiel want to pull out his grace and bask in the pain.

                “Fuck.” Dean hissed, “Fuck fuck fuck. Are you sure we can’t do anything?” He rounded on Castiel.

                When Castiel doesn’t answer he presses. “Cas, are you fucking sure?”

                “My own opinion is obviously not wanted Dean, so why should I bother to answer.” He replies tight lipped. Dean can’t bear to look at him so instead he turns on his heel and faces the other wall. Castiel swears he saw hurt flash in Dean’s eyes. But it’s gone just as quick. As is Castiel’s sympathy.

     “Damn it Cas, this isn’t about any fucking angels or grace. I just want to know if we can bring him back.” He says lowly, turning to face Castiel once again, “Just tell me that.”

    “I don’t think we should go dealing anymore, maybe it’s time Sam rested. He deserves it—” Castiel tries talking around it.

“What about us or Amelia?” Dean paces angrily.

“This problem that _you’re_ creating Dean, has nothing to do with her. We need to mourn and move on. You’re irrational, I’m sorry Dean there’s nothing I can do.” Castiel says coldly.

“Fine Cas, I don’t need your help. Not now.” Castiel feels like the words would’ve pierced him had this been some other situation, but he’s numb to it.

“So I’m finally off duty.” Castiel snaps back out of spite.

“Just get the hell out Cas, I’m done.” Dean points towards the motel room’s door. “I can do it on my own.”

“What are you planning? Another demon deal? They’re not listening anymore Dean, they don’t care. Just listen to me—”

“I’m not listening to your wisdom crap alright, just fuck off.” Dean grimaces. Castiel stands with Dean’s back to him. Castiel leaves, he should have stayed but his anger won out. He sorely wishes it shouldn’t have.

Castiel takes in a shuddering breath and he’s back in Amelia’s guest bedroom staring at the streams of light through the curtains. Taking a measured swallow, Castiel sits up. He takes in another shaky breath. He couldn’t blame Dean despite the strong urge to. He wouldn’t blame Dean, Sam was a brother to both of them. Sam was Dean’s only brother and he lost him that sweltering night a month ago.

He falls asleep bitter.

…

“Castiel.”

No answer.

“Castiel.”

Still nothing.

“Castiel, brother wake up now.”

His eyes peel open and he feels the leather beneath him. It’s cool and smooth beneath his fingertips.

“Brother?” Castiel asks. He still hasn’t grasped much of his situation. The floor is shiny black tile when he looks down. There’s a glass coffee table next to him, the edges are painstakingly sculpted.

“I’ve summoned him,” Azrael stands where she’s been kneeling above him.

“Death?” Castiel’s eyes snap open.

“Brother, you sleep at the most inopportune times.” Her eyes are kind and a lip quirks.

“What has he said?”

“He wants to speak with you Castiel.” She says instead, stepping back to make room for him to stand.

Castiel sits up, swinging his legs off the couch. He rubs his face roughly with his palms, it’s cold without his coat and he wishes Azrael could bother to clue him in some more. She points him down a narrow hall and he walks towards it without question. At the end of the hallway is a door, wooden and thick. There are sigils carved into the edges, deterring creatures and binding others. Castiel pushes with his hand and the door opens.

“Castiel, our little god, how may I be of service to you?” Death says between sips of hot earl grey.

“You reaped Sam Winchester.” Castiel approaches the white cushioned seat Death resides in.

“Quite the accusation.” There’s a muted clack when he places the cup onto a lace doily. “Not one for discussion? The other reapers?” His question begs an answer.

“Others, they’ve showed no interest. You know the location of Sam Winchester’s heaven?” Castiel states, his tone demanding an answer.

“Sit down Castiel,” He gestures to the seat opposite him.

[](http://www.flickr.com/photos/96864429@N07/10071117313/)

Castiel does as he’s told, the cushion sinks audibly with his weight, and the cold air pinpricks against his exposed arms. He wishes he could at least rub them without looking the least bit uncomfortable in Death’s presence.

The room is quite bare, there are matching black tiles across the floor and empty matte white frames cover the walls, clean and immaculate.

“For the record, I indeed did reap Sam Winchester. I saw fit to retire the demon boy myself.”

“I need to know his location. The other angels haven’t been speaking.”

“Or you haven’t been listening. I could divulge to you the whereabouts of the younger Winchester, but shall I?” Death runs spindle-like fingers across the handle of the teacup, Castiel can feel the slight heat with the steam that rises and swirls around them.

“I want to make sure he’s safe—”

“Are you sure? No resurrection this time? Sure there may be no reason for it this time so let me tell you,” He props himself closer to the edge of his chair. “Those boys have been like hair in my soup, every little problem somehow superior to the rest of the world, had it not involved the world initially.”

“They have saved this world—”

“Ah, but will they continue to save it? I’m afraid their time as heroes had met a very grim end don’t you think? One’s dead and the other? He’s been rendered incapable. It’s time to move on Castiel, those boys are done in this world. Shall I wait until the elder is ready for my presence as well?”

“Answer me this, why aren’t the angels able to access this place?”

“The answer is simple. Sam’s heaven is barred from grace from anything that isn’t myself. I did it in hopes that he wouldn’t be resurrected, believe me Castiel I do not want another apocalypse on my hands.”

“It isn’t for resurrection. I want to speak to Sam because he may be able to help Dean. There is no other reason for this visitation.”

“Are you completely sure? I’m not one to trifle with and you’ve all got a track record when it comes to spreading it thin.” Death brings the cup to his mouth and takes a small sip.

“Completely. You have my word.”

…

It’s so bright from the sudden sunlight Castiel squints. He doesn’t even remember seeing Death make any moves to transport him. Castiel looks across the lawn he’s now standing in to see a replica of the house he’d just moved into.  He trudges towards the house with warmth relief on his skin.

Castiel wanders up the front steps to the door, pushes at with a hand meant to knock but it falls open. The ground floor is empty everything looks untouched. As if no one lived there.

Castiel figures maybe Sam’s upstairs.

“Sam?” He’s standing at the stairwell when he calls up it. There’s a rustling and his gut tightens. Castiel climbs them two at a time, halfway up he hears a reply.

“Cas?” The voice is so recognizable Castiel could never forget it. He’s grinning when he reaches the top.

“Sam?” Castiel stops.

Standing in the doorway to his room is a tall man. Kind but worn features, hands stuffed in his pockets.

                “Are you Sam Winchester?” The name is familiar on his lips and for the first time in awhile it delights him.

                “I am. Cas?” Sam questions and before Castiel can even finish nodding he’s crushed in an embrace that may break his ribs. 


	2. Part Two

Sam sits down on the bed, runs his hands heavy across his cheeks.

                “Sam?” Castiel pulls up a chair in front of Sam, their knees close enough to touch.

                “How have things been down there?” Sam lets out a low huff.

                “Sam, they haven’t been good.” Castiel figures lying would be doing him a disservice.

                “What, Amelia? Dean? Has anything happened to her?” Sam braces his hands on the bed, scrunching the sheet beneath his fingers.

                “It’s not Amelia, she’s coping well.” Castiel’s slight smile does nothing to ease the worry on Sam’s face. “Dean however, he isn’t doing well.”

                “What about Dean, Cas what happened, what did he do?” Sam’s not quite shouting but he’s not being the most calm either.

                “He didn’t—he couldn’t do anything that’s what happened.”

                “Why aren’t—didn’t you help him?” He narrows his eyes.

                “I tried talking to him out of all these things. He wanted to make a deal—I wouldn’t let him,” Castiel adds before Sam can interject. “We weren’t doing so well after your passing Sam. Unfortunately Dean suffered the most.”

                “What happened to him?” Sam asks again, his voice hard.

                “He lost everything. He doesn’t remember being a hunter or having a brother or who I am—” Sam’s lunging at him and Castiel finds himself pressed to the wall with a thick forearm. Castiel’s caught off guard by the abruptness of it. Though he quickly adjusts, his hands braced in front of him, not quite touching Sam.

                “I wanted you to take care of him, didn’t that go without saying?” He grits out, “You were what he had after me and you’re telling me he’s driven himself crazy. Cas you son of a bitch, you left him alone and you did nothing to prevent it—” There’s warmth building between them where Sam’s bearing down on him.

                “Sam,” Castiel gasps, “I’m doing what I can. Whatever I can. To help him.” Castiel’s hands circle Sam’s elbow and wrist and he pushes Sam away with relative ease, “He needs you Sam.” Castiel brushes at his shirt.

                “That’s why you’re here isn’t it?” Sam’s breathing hard as he massages his eyes with the tips of his fingers, groans. “Are you taking me back?” It sounds hopeful.

                “No,” Castiel’s tone is absolute and Sam’s catches on immediately.

                “I haven’t heard from any angels since I got here. Death was the one who reaped me. Did he do something to this place?”

                “He did Sam. Your heaven, it’s barred. No angel including myself could get in. I had to assure Death I wouldn’t resurrect you for admittance.”

                “And you’re going to heed it?”

                “I’ve got no other choice.”

                Sam looks at him and appears to give up on the argument for the day, he settles on the edge of the bed, rubs at his face some more, “So what can I do exactly? From up here?”

                “I have yet to figure that out.”

                “Is this the only time you can come here?”

                “As long as I keep my word I can appear as many times as I wish.”

…

 

                Castiel find himself closing the door, one last lingering look at Dean trembling on the bed is enough for him. He’ll return a few minutes. Castiel makes his way to the break room again, craving a scalding coffee and if he can manage it some liquor to spike it with if there’s no one to see him.

                It’s a cluster of dark blue furniture in the room. The blinds are drawn to shut out the afternoon sunlight. There’s a counter to his right complete with a cloudy black coffee maker, paper cups as well as ceramic mugs in the cabinet above it. Castiel wastes no time in grabbing a paper cup and pouring himself some lukewarm coffee from the pot.

                He settles for no sugar and lets it spill over his tongue bitter and bland. There’s his concern for Dean scratching at him, an itch he wants so badly to scratch. But there’s a part of him that can’t handle it anymore. Being able to see Dean but watching him suffer is unbearable for Castiel. He toes at the carpet, hesitant. Once again the coffee is dropped unceremoniously into the trash.

                Castiel turns the handle slowly, barely five minutes have passed and Castiel feels like he’d just abandoned Dean. He closes the door quietly.

                Dean’s still lying motionless in the bed, his lips are moving but Castiel can’t decipher what from the distance. Castiel sits down in the bedside chair, leans over and puts his ear to Dean’s lips.

                “Sam…Sam…Sam…Sam…” Dean’s mumbling in hush tones.

                Castiel has a small idea. He hopes with all his might he gets somewhere with it. Castiel brings his hand to Dean’s forehead. The skin is clammy and damp. He closes his own eyes and tries to enforce some kind of calm into Dean, even when he himself is anything but composed on the inside.

                His transition into Dean’s head is smooth, but that’s where it ends. Castiel stands in Dean’s mind; he’s surrounded my white, much like heaven. If he looks up, he can see greyish clouds floating above him, only slightly visible.

                Dead trees surround him in every direction, charcoal branches reaching into the nothingness. Black roots wind and curl across the white ground, smearing across like ink leading Castiel to believe the boughs maybe fragile as charred sticks.

                Dean’s soul is intertwined in the forest, like a tangible scent, drifting and consuming. However Castiel has no way of finding the source. The clusters of trees appear endless. Castiel frowns and runs his hand along the trunk of the one nearest him. It’s rough and solid as bark would be, though it doesn’t break off as easily as he thought it would. Castiel finds himself closer to Dean than he has been weeks. There’s warmth curling in his gut, a swell of happiness, and he hasn’t even found Dean yet. He hopes he does. The real Dean, the suppressed one is there somewhere. And Castiel is clueless of where that could be. Dean’s hidden in his own mind and that distresses Castiel.

                There’s a sudden rumbling from above him, Castiel faces a parting sky, a chink of bright blue visible through the white sky. He figures the change in scenery may Dean’s change in mental state. There’s an influx of grace closing in, it might be his own either way it begins constricting him from all sides.

                Castiel transports before the pressure becomes too great.

                With a sharp inhale Castiel moves from his hunched over position. He’s trying in vain to steady himself when he feels a nudge at his shoulder.

                “Dean, are you tired?” Castiel asks looking up before Dean can speak.

                “I’m…not really.” Dean layers his hands on his stomach.

                “Are you feeling well? Is there anything different or unusual?” Castiel says, bringing his hand back to Dean’s forehead, it’s got a thin sheen of sweat; it’s cool beneath Castiel’s hand. He only contemplates transporting back for a second, before shaking his head and glancing back into Dean’s face.

                “I’m” Dean bites his lip, “I have a headache.” Castiel bites his lip, worries at it with his teeth.

                “I can get some medication, how bad is it?”

                “I don’t need one,” Dean assures him, blinking hard.

                “Alright.”

…

                “How was work?” Amelia’s lounging on the couch, a book in her lap. The television is on and Castiel’s sure it’s on solely for the background noise.

                Castiel shrugs and heads up the stairs, pulling at his coat along the way.

                His room is dim and Castiel doesn’t bother to turn the lamp on.

                He dumps his things on the floor, tosses his keys on the bedside table and proceeds to face plant into his pillow. Turning to the side to allow himself some air, Castiel stares out at the wall. The one Sam forced him against up in heaven’s reality.

                It’s not long until he hears light steps up the stairs. He feels the hesitance, the way she stands outside his door a second too long before knocking, a solitary knock that could be passed off as an acorn hitting the roof if he wanted it to.

                “It’s open.” Castiel groans turning over.

                “Bad day?” She lingers by the door, a stripe of light from the outside streaks into the room. With a mildly concerned expression, her eyes roam over the dark room and then to Castiel whose shirt has ridden up his stomach.

                “Not necessarily.” Castiel pulls at his shirt, stretches down only briefly, it recedes from loss of tension a second later leaving a stripe of skin visible.

                “Is it Dean?” She asks simply, approaching the bed before sitting on the edge.

                A silent moment follows before Castiel answers, his slow breathing fills the room, his eyes lazily resting on Amelia who’s looking around the room herself.

                “I can’t take it anymore.” He mutters to the room.

                “Cas, it’s not easy I understand that,” She twists to stare him in the face. “You have to watch over him—”

                “I’m not considering leaving Dean, I could never. I would never. I want to watch over him. It’s the fucking least I can do.” He huffs into the pillow.

                “Then what is it?”

                “Have I told you sometimes the questions are sometimes a bit tiring?” He croaks in the darkness.

                “Excuse me for caring about your well-being.” She gives him a stern look.

                “Sorry,” Castiel mumbles an apology. “I’m just—it’s Dean.”

                “I’m not asking Cas. Just tell me.” She purses her lips.

                “I haven’t told you before but sometimes Dean remembers everything.” Castiel says at last, he hears a small gasp from Amelia so he continues. “Except sometimes he can’t communicate with you. He did…once.” Castiel pauses, “It’s about when he doesn’t. Those happen more often.” He sighs.  “I can’t take watching him lie there talking to himself like he’s trapped. He’s doesn’t know I’m there...” Castiel drifts off, just the thought of Dean being there but unable to recognize him frightens and worries him.

                “What does he say Cas?” Her hand seeks out and rubs comfortingly at Castiel’s arm.

                “Most of the time he’s whimpering, saying Sam’s name over and over again. I left him there today, alone.” Castiel admits with a breath rubbing at his face with his hand, messing his hair. “I shouldn’t have left him. It was a disgusting thing to do.”

                “You can’t pity yourself Cas, there’s only so much you can handle, it’s okay.”

                “I just left him, like I always do—what if something even worse happened to him because I left?”

                He stops talking. His fingers are squirming on top of the bed sheet, clutching at the comforter and letting go again.

                “Cas?”

                “Do you have any alcohol by any chance?”

                “I do but I’m not getting it for you. Cas, you--have you spoken to Sam at all?” She tilts her head, says it like she hasn’t been holding in the question for the last five minutes.

                “Actually, I have.” He’d almost forgotten. “He’s angry at me.” Castiel groans into the pillow again.

                “Is he well?” Amelia raises an eyebrow.

                “He’s in heaven isn’t he? Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe I’m not fit to watch over Dean, I have been for so many years and now?” Castiel snaps up in the bed, “I have to see Sam.”

                “Sam said something like that? You shouldn’t listen to those things. You love Dean, Cas and you’d do anything to the best of your ability to help him.”

                “I would.” Castiel blinks and vanishes.

…

                “Cas!” Sam jumps when Castiel lands in the same room he’d just teleported away from. He’s teetering on his feet and Sam notices the bottle in his hand. Sam has caught on to the middle stop before his heaven.

                “Sam, I figured it out.” Castiel stumbles to the bed, the pack in his other hand smashing to the floor when he drops it, forgotten.

                “Shit.” Castiel mutters looking at the mess on the carpet. He shrugs then proceeds to lie down. He brings the one bottle he’s still got and takes a long pull.

                “Figured what out?” Sam turns around his seat to face Castiel. The same place Amelia had been just moments before. “Cas snap out of it, what are you talking about?”

                “I can reach Dean—I mean technically I already have but I have yet to reach the subconscious Dean, the one who can’t articulate himself.” Castiel gestures to the air.

                “How Cas,” Sam scrambles closer, “You--you can reach Dean?” His eyes are wide.

                Cas burps, “Oh, I haven’t told you yet either. Long story short, Dean has these periods when he remembers everything. My plan is to take advantage of one of these moments to reach him.”

                “Really, have you—what makes you think that?”

                “I’ve already done it. I did go there but I was too late to find…anything. I figure if I transfer myself into his mind when these periods of clarity begin them maybe the real Dean will be findable. I hope,” Castiel takes another sip before Sam can pull the bottle from his hands.

                “Can I ask you something?”

                “As long as it doesn’t involve more forceful behavior, go ahead.”

                “Is Amelia doing well?” Sam sucks in his bottom lip, his brow furrowing.

                “She’s doing better than me at least; I keep her company when I’m not taking care of Dean. We both needed the company and I’ve moved into your house—”

                “You’ve moved in?”

                “In fact I have, I consider it an upgrade from the motel I was living in.”

                “Ah,” Sam nods, “I would too. When can you try this head transport thing?”

                “As soon as Dean decides I can, I guess. It’s up to him.”

…

                And so Castiel waits. It’s another week until anything happens. Castiel rarely leaves the room now; his determination to succeed in this had increased tenfold when he realized what a sound plan he really had.

                “Cas.” Dean’s eyes widen and Castiel doesn’t wait to hear the rest of the thought, no matter how precious, no matter how comforting.

                “I’m here Dean.” Castiel says into the cluster of black trees. In the far distance, Castiel recognizes a clearing. He begins pelting towards it, and seconds pass before he realizes he’s not even in the forest anymore. Instead he’s faced with a field, wheat and grasses swaying in patterns to a breeze he doesn’t feel. It spans towards a drop-off, the sun beginning to dip beneath the edge. And near the edge is a man sitting in a worn out lawn chair, an open ice box with bottles peeking out next to him. Castiel’s heart beats painfully with each step closer. The warmth curling inside him is back at full force and he can’t stop the grin curving his lips before he calls out.

                “Dean!” Castiel shouts to the figure silhouetted by the sun. Cas traces the broad shoulders the heavy coat with his eyes. The man shifts in his seat before standing.  The moment Dean turns Castiel’s breath is lost to him.

                “Cas?” Dean calls back, there’s apprehension in his eyes.

                “Yes.” Castiel’s sweeping down the path to Dean.

                And once he has Dean in his arms, there’s a million emotions swirling in him and overwhelming him. Dean’s arms tighten around his waist and Castiel feels better than he has in a month. He wants the feeling to consume him, numb everything else.

                “That you Cas?” Dean mutters, sniffling.

                “It’s me Dean.” Castiel pulls away just far enough to stare into Dean’s face. Take in the green eyes, the tanned skin and reddened cheeks spattered with freckles. Trying his hardest to burn and brand every little feature in his memory. The exact way they looked, so alive and real.

                “How’d you find me here? The forest—”

                “I had to wait—”

                “I ran as long as I could Cas, I could never reach anything.”

                “It was your moment of clarity Dean, do remember, however briefly, being out there?”

                Dean chews his lip, “I don’t know.” Dean’s brows are scrunched and he looks horribly confused. Castiel kisses him, it’s surreal, intangible and Castiel somehow feels the force of it like a collision. The warm lips erase the countless hangovers and the painful steady throb in his chest that he’d ever felt in the last few months.

                “God I missed that.” Dean smiles slightly.

                “Wait Dean,” Castiel says between breaths and the next press of lips. “We need to talk first.”

                “Always the level headed one huh? You can come back right?” He’s pleading.

                “I—yes.” Castiel lies.

                The field swirls around them, a mix of warm hues solidifying into a spotless gray motel room. Red shag carpet across the floor, frames and posters along the striped wall paper void of their subjects.  The faded brown bed sheets oddly blank without the gaudy pattern. Without much detail, the room looked mind-numbingly bare. And yet Castiel could bring up every last little aspect that made the room what it was.

                The cheap cologne smell the room seemed to have retained. Sunny green palms painted in the copper frames, the smooth feel of the hilt of the wooden knife Dean had stashed beneath the pillow.

                Dean wastes no time sitting on the bed, his hand never leaving Castiel’s, he proceeds to pull Castiel into his lap. Castiel tilts his head and gives Dean a thoughtful look.

                “A bit cheesy, but this is what I came up with on a moment’s notice and you can’t blame me for trying.” Dean’s crooked smile is a bashful one.

                To have Dean, his Dean in front of him, his hands running down the front of Castiel’s shirt, the amount of affection churning inside him engulfs him and so he squeezes his eyes closed, tries to remember the feeling, tries with all his might to keep and lock it inside him.

                “Cas,” He breathes.

                “Yes?” Castiel mumbles beneath the slow grind he’s begun in Dean’s lap. A soft gasp passes Dean’s lips.

                “God, I—I want this, so fucking bad Cas.” Dean’s voice is breathy, his hands are hot and pressing against his skin, Castiel can feel the desperation, the slight hesitation in his fingers. Like he’s relearning Castiel’s body one touch at a time.

                Instead of replying, Castiel’s fingers slip beneath Dean’s coat, pushing it back and off his shoulders. Dean’s hands scrabble at Castiel’s own coat, it slips onto the floor without much resistance. His lips find the still cool skin of Castiel’s throat, places light kisses between nips and sucks.

                Castiel’s hands are vice tight on Dean’s shoulder. He’s lost for any sound, mouth hanging open as Dean continues.

                “Cas?” Dean pulls away, breathless. “Are you alright?” He looks up with wide eyes.

                “I’m fine.” Castiel says, unseating Dean and pulling off his shirt quickly, then his pants. Everything until he’s bare enough that Dean sees the ribs lining his torso, the half hard cock lying against his thigh.

                Dean’s barely pulled off his own shirt before Castiel’s looming over him, thinning hips parting Dean’s knees.

                “You’re thinner,” Dean’s concerned as he mouths at Castiel’s chest, tongues gently at a nipple. Dean’s hands splay those bony hips, pressing hard. He slips a hand behind the small of Castiel’s back, pushes him in closer, crowding him. It’s warm sweltering air between them and it sets Castiel’s skin aflame.

                “Dean,” Castiel says quietly, he’s not even aware he’s been panting it for the past few minutes.

                “Hmmm,” Dean hums in acknowledgement, kisses at Castiel’s throat, licks slowly at his pulse. His hands slip to Castiel’s thighs, presses with just enough insistence to get Castiel back in his lap.

                “I missed you.” Castiel's hand reaches down between them to undo the front of Dean’s jeans with deft fingers. His hands are firm and unwavering when they circle Dean’s cock. Castiel pumps him unhurried despite the urgency Castiel feels pulling in his gut.

                Dean’s stifling his own sharp breaths with Castiel’s lips, licking messily into Castiel’s mouth.

                The rooms thrown into darkness like it’s escaped Dean’s notice, there’s a soft orange glow seeping in from the drawn curtains, light from a lone street light that doesn’t exist outside this room. Castiel wants to shut down, sink to depths of his own mind, and pull Dean down with him. He wants to close his eyes and live solely in the warm feel of Dean’s cock in his fingers, the cooling of precome on his own skin.

                Dean’s shifted Castiel onto his back and Castiel’s relieved there’s real blankness in his mind, revels in the loss of words, to the ever present heat flickering underneath his skin and behind his eyes as Dean’s fingers work him open. He whimpers pitifully, rocks his hips forward, pushes down, anything to get Dean deeper.

                Dean’s eyes intent on his own, wide with wonder and Castiel wonders just what Dean sees in him.

                It’s not just the battle worn skin, still smooth and tanned under Dean’s touch. Or his own wide blue eyes, full black and wanting. There’s a beauty Dean sees, a celestial obscurity that Dean thinks he can never reach and Castiel will never believe he still has.

                Dean pushes all in one smooth movement and Castiel sees the bursts behind his eyes. His hands scramble for Dean, his back, his shoulder, his face, he needs to hold on, to feel the heat simmer between them and the eventual boil that implodes them both at the seams. Castiel will then piece them both back together with his own hands, his own weak broken hands.

….

                “He hasn’t had one in three weeks Sam, what is there left to do?” Castiel puts his head in his hands. He feels like he’s run out of ideas, he’s angry at himself for wasting the only one he may have had.

                “What have you been doing? What happened the first time?” Sam’s pacing around the room running his hands through his hair, lips tight. 

                “I already told you, we ran out of time, I didn’t understand how the passing of time worked there. Now I do—” Castiel intentionally leaves out the coupling; there we’re just some things Sam didn’t need to know. He doesn’t want Sam adding yet another thing to list of things he’s already angry at Castiel about either.

                “Look, I’m thrilled that you found him, I really am. But now we’ve potentially lost whatever if not the only plan we ever had--”

                “It’s not my fault, I got overwhelmed Sam, you’d understand if you’d been there.”

                “I do understand, you have no idea how bad I miss Dean, he’s my brother Cas—”

                “And I do have an idea of how much you miss Dean. If you finally saw him, the time would hardly be your first priority.” Castiel reasons, he’s tight lipped without the alcohol Sam had denied him of.

                “Fine, we’re both on the same page alright?” Sam says at last.

                “Of course.” Castiel looks down at his hands.

                “Then what is our plan now?”

                “The only thing we can do at this point. Wait.” Castiel says and by the way Sam huffs he knows Sam didn’t want to hear that.

                “What if that doesn’t pay off?”

                “You’re hardly the first one to be quite this pessimistic about the whole situation.” Castiel watches Sam brush his hair back ruefully with his hands then thump up the stairs, in need of some type of release of energy. Sam’s making his way down again before he speaks.

                “You’re gonna update me if anything happens—” Sam’s pointing his finger angrily, he sounds a bit calmer.  

                “I have been. You’re not in the dark Sam, you know about as much as I do at this point.” Castiel’s eyes follow Sam around the room. He watches Sam think then eventually drop the subject completely.

                “How is he?” Sam sits down on the couch opposite Castiel. “Is he doing better at all?”

                “He’s increasingly upset, Sam. He doesn’t speak much, not even to me anymore. I don’t know how much worst he can get.” Castiel’s just fed up with the situation, he’s lost and frustrated with his lack of action.

                “He’s that bad?” Sam’s hands go limp in his lap.

                “And getting worse, I’m lost for ideas. I’m been showing him pictures of you, it calms him enough but even that wears off eventually. I feel like this upheaval in his behavior is Dean’s way of informing us that he’s trying to make his way back to us. And it’s just not working. You’d think when he realizes how destructive this—this behavior is for him, he’d recover like that—” Castiel snaps his fingers once.

                “If only I could be there in person,” Sam stands, covers his mouth with his hand and circles the room once. “I could do something—anything--are you sure you can’t take me?”

                “Don’t you think I would have by now if I could? Death’s watching me Sam and I’m not lying.”

                “I get that. I do. But what’s the worst he can do if you do take me?”

                Castiel looks affronted. “What’s the worst he can do? He’s Death Sam— for starters he could kill us—”

                “Yeah Cas, that’s what I’m getting at, how can he kill an angel and someone who’s already dead?”

                “I don’t know,” Castiel rolls his eyes, “for example, he could scatter our existence across the universe. If an angel can do that, why not him?”

                “I suppose,” Sam frowns, sits back down, “Are you sure—” He prods.

                “I’m not taking you Sam I can’t—I really can’t—” Castiel grits his teeth, “If I could, I would have.” He repeats, locking his fingers together.

                Sam sighs, “It’s worth a try at least.”

 

…

 

                “So he’s eating and returning things on his own, speaking to other patients, isn’t that an improvement?” Amelia’s pacing the strand of room Sam had been.

                “Yes, but he’ll get worse again, he always does.” Castiel explains. It’s been two more weeks since he’d spoken to Sam and five since he’d been in Dean’s head. Helplessness is beginning to set in.

                “You need to have faith in him, I watched him interact with some staff the other day, he’s leaving the room more and more it’s better for him.” Amelia says, smiling. Since her first visit, Amelia had taken to coming more often. Dean’s taken to her presence and Castiel sees it as a benefit for both of them.

                “That doesn’t change anything, I need to accept the possibility that Dean may not get better.” Castiel stares her straight in the face, sees the hopeful expression she had slowly fall away.

                “And that’s a realistic thing to do, but I do believe you need to have more faith in Dean. Knowing you, you’ve told Dean something like that haven’t you?” She tilts her head.

                “The circumstances are so different this time Amelia. Dean’s trying so hard to “free” himself. I don’t understand how this whole suppressed mind thing really works in the first place. And that what the problem is, I’ve never experienced something like this before. What if he can’t do this? If we are unable to help him and he’s like this forever. Fluctuating between our Dean and a childlike copy?  I don’t want to watch him degenerate like that, watch over him until he’s old and dying—” _and he still can’t recognize that I’m the fucking love if his life and I’m right there in front of him._ “Do you know how this feels? To have someone you love so much not know who you are?”

                “I get it Cas, it’s like he’s already dead to you.” Amelia purses her lips. “Sam didn’t have to die that night, it was by chance. Do you think I’m not hurting either Cas? Sam is dead and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. At least you’ve got a chance of having Dean back,” her voice cracks.

                “Amelia I understand that. You and Sam have helped me realize that my feelings are not solely my own. I’m not alone and I’ve realized that without either of you having to tell me.” Castiel looks down at his feet. He doesn’t see any more reason to argue, it wouldn’t help anyone.  “You’ll see Sam again, I guarantee it.” He adds as an afterthought.

                “What makes you think that?”

                “Nothing in particular, but I’ll tell you when I find out.”

                Amelia lets out a broken sigh, “I have to leave.” She abruptly leaves the room. Castiel sits there, listens to the sound of the engine revving then waning as she backs out the driveway and makes her way down the road.

                Castiel sits there another fifteen minutes. He figures she needs time to herself. While part of him wants to go after her and make sure she doesn’t do anything rash.

                He’s driving on the road within ten minutes.  Castiel reaches the cemetery within thirty. The air is thick and humid, Castiel wipes at his brow as he puts the car in park. He looks over down the parking lot, and sees Amelia’s modest car sitting there. She’s not in it.

                Castiel takes to aimlessly wandering the path that circles the cemetery, winds around plots and patches and ultimately around the whole of it.

                He spots her on a bench near the patch that Sam’s grave is located. Her arms are crossed over her chest, she’s chewing at her lip.

                “We went about this in the wrong way,” Castiel opens his arms meekly in surrender as he approaches her.  She stares up at him a trying expression on her face.

                “I agree. We’ve both lost important people. Dean became like a brother to me. And now we don’t know if he can recover—I’m just upset. Nothing special these days.” She says, wiping across her face with her sleeve.

                “There’s no reason to be thrilled either. Amelia, if I’m going to try anything, I going to need you. I hope that doesn’t come as unfortunate to you.” Castiel manages a weak smile that does nothing to sell the words he’s saying.

                “Cas, I’m not—what can I even do? This is all so much to comprehend, it’s too much—”

                “Sam needs you Amelia.” Castiel says, “I need you to be alright.”

                “I can do that on my own, Sam doesn’t need to worry.” Amelia goes silent, “Cas?”

                “Hmm?”

                “I miss him.” Her voice is small and she puts her face in her hands again.

                “Without a doubt, he wants to see you.” Castiel comforts, shuffles closer.

                Castiel holds his hand out limply, awkwardly. “How about we just go home, I could attempt dinner tonight.”

                Amelia chuckles, places her hand in his, “I guess.”

…

 

                “This was definitely better than the last time.” Dean slips beneath the covers once again and pulls Castiel into him. Lays a hand across Castiel’s lower belly, breathes in his scent with a gentle nuzzle behind Castiel’s ear.

                Another week and a half had passed before Castiel was able to stand before Dean as he stilled on the bed and let Castiel into him. They’re lying in some cabin on the edge of the woods, Dean tells him he used to stay up here sometimes, to get away when he didn’t want to face anyone.

                “Dean, I’m troubled.” Castiel says shifting out of Dean’s arms and turning to face him, the rising sun now at his back.

                “Talk to me.” His fingers trace across Castiel’s bare skin.

                “I don’t know if you can recover from this.” He replies outright, Dean’s hand freezes.

                “I’ve been trying pretty damn hard, don’t count me out yet,” He chuckles nervously. “Don’t you think?”

                “I’m not denying that. Not at all. Sure you could be improving, but what if you’re never the same Dean? If you never fully recover?”

                “All in due time?” Dean says lamely, his hand wanders and plants itself against Castiel’s hip once more. Smooth skin and protruding bone beneath callous palms. “I can’t promise you that I’m going to fully recover or whatever but I can tell you I’m trying to fix myself--to dig myself out of this sorry hole that I dug for myself. Isn’t that enough for now?”

                “Dean, sure you’ll try and try but the truth is, seeing you the way I’ve been seeing you for the past few months, it’s painful. You don’t realize how this hurts me. It’s all the mistakes I’ve made in regard to you greeting me every morning and dwelling within me until I leave.”

                “I didn’t mean for this to become of me Cas, when Sam died I—I excuse the cheese but I died too. On the inside. He’s my only little brother.”

                “The way you dealt with it was unhealthy Dean. Searching for resurrection methods was no way to deal with the matter.”

                “Then why didn’t you stop me?” Dean grits his teeth, Castiel swallows hard.

                “I tried Dean. You’re too stubborn for your own good—”

                “You’re not supposed to give up on me Cas! You’re my angel—you’re the fucking love of my life for whatever it’s worth.” Regret flashes across Dean’s face only to be replaced with disappointment.

                “Dean—” Castiel never wanted this, this was supposed to be a salvation from what lurked out there.

                “So you’re saying this whole mess is self-inflicted and I’ve got no one else huh? Just to make sure,” His hand drops to the sheet and he narrows his eyes.

                “Dean, this isn’t about blame anymore this is about your recovery—” Castiel tries to steer the conversation away, to calm Dean.

                “If that’s even possible—”

                “Dean,” Castiel cuts in firmly, Dean’s mouth shuts. “I’m not leaving you,” He presses at Dean’s shoulder, urges him to lie back so Castiel can crawl on top of him. “I’d never think of it as a possibility.” Castiel brings Dean’s hand to his mouth, and in turn kisses each knuckle. “I understand I shouldn’t have left you alone by any means. I blame myself for your condition I want you to “free” yourself on your own. I’m afraid I don’t have an alternative if you’re unable to.”

                “And if this doesn’t work?” Dean asks gently, his eyes wide in Castiel’s.

                “I’ll watch over you until you pass away, only then I’ll meet you in Heaven.” Castiel says it and the reality of what he’s saying sounds more and more horrid with each passing second. He’ll stand by Dean until he dies, Castiel would never think otherwise. But in silence? Next to man who knows everything about him, his body, but never able to articulate it?

Dean looks like he might cry from the sentiment, Castiel’s gut tightens, weighs heavy inside him.

                “Cas, what if we speed up the process?” Dean says suddenly.

                “What do you mean?”

                “How you said I have control of myself for brief periods of time, what if I…killed myself?” The realization of what Dean’s proposing hits Castiel like a blow to the gut.

                “Dean, I can’t just let you, I can’t just stand there and watch--”

                “Then don’t watch,” Dean cradles Castiel’s face with his hands, “I can at the very least do this, with what little time I have when I get through.” Dean says, gives no room for Castiel to object. Even though Castiel so badly wants to, he closes his mouth.

                “Dean,”

                “Can I ask you one more thing?”

                “Anything.”

“Cas, if I do die, will you take my soul?” Dean’s lips tremble, “to heaven I mean. I want you.”

                “Of course,” Castiel leans in to kiss him, their lips slow and lazy and needy.

                “You’re letting me do this?” Dean says when they pull away. Castiel barely had time to really mull over the possibility, but he realizes that he may not see Dean this way again and compromises with getting to the matter at hand as fast as possible. No matter how extensively Castiel wants to think and discuss it.

                “I am. If you don’t help yourself first then we’ll let this be our plan B if you will. If nothing else works, then we’ll resort to that.”

                “How do you think we—I should carry it out?”

                “Right now?” Castiel kisses him again, “just let me handle it alright?”

                “I--alright,” Dean agrees and Castiel gives in, presses himself as close to Dean as he can.

 

…

 

                Castiel lands once again in an eternal Tuesday sunshine. He swears the weathers getting a bit old and wishes it would rain or something. He stalks up the steps and in through the unlocked door. Sam doesn’t bother to lock it because he’s up in heaven and what angels would let a door deter them?

                “Sam,” Castiel calls once tiredly. He slips out of his coat and falls face first onto the couch, his arms burrowing beneath the pillow that he buries his face in.

                “Cas? You there?” Sam’s coming down the stairs.

                “What do you do when I’m away anyway?” Castiel mumbles into the pillow, “I’m genuinely curious.”

                He hears Sam take the seat across from him, “I uh, I bide my tine until you come back, clean the house, what I can anyway, I do yard work that refreshes the next “morning”. I never really thought I’d forever live in a Tuesday,” Sam drifts off to himself, scrunches his nose at memories he scarcely forgets.

                “Isn’t that eventful.” Castiel frowns.

                “So you have news I think?” Sam ignores him.

                Castiel turns his head and frees himself from the pillow, “Dean and I, we’ve come up with an ultimatum.”

                “Which is?” Sam raises an expectant eyebrow.

                “I’m giving Dean more time to attempt to reestablish himself. If that doesn’t work then—”

                “Then what Cas?”

                “Don’t get angry this is just an alternate plan if Dean’s unable to do it on his own.”

                Sam exhales heavily, “Alright, what is it?”

                “We’ve decided to end Dean’s life prematurely if he’s unable to fulfill his duty in the allotted amount of time.” Castiel says at last, he hears Sam let out a sharp breath through his nose.

                “And how long have you given him?” Sam says in a clipped tone.

                “Another month or two, or until I myself have been driven mad as well.”

                “This is crazy,” Sam stands and paces the room, “Cas you can’t possibly—”

                “It’s possible Sam. In desperation, anything is possible.” He replies solemnly.

                “So Dean’s agreed to this? What will killing him do?”

                “Dean suggested it, I believe if he does pass away his suppressed soul, which I myself will be reaping, will be released into the fields of the Lord and there I will find him.”

                “That’s a – that’s a decent plan.” Sam admits to himself.

                “Decent is all we’ve got left.”

                “How is he doing?”

                “Well, in the last few weeks,” Castiel flips himself onto his back, fingers drumming against his stomach, “since I’ve spoken to him last, his rate of improvement has accelerated somewhat. He wrote me a letter after I’d clocked out the other day. Telling me he was trying hard to help himself and how much he wanted to get better. Though he forgot he wrote the letter the next day, it’s all a good sign. He doing more on his own, retaining himself for longer amounts of time. Dean’s proving me wrong and I’m glad he is.”

                “Cas,” Castiel can feel the age old question forming on his lips, “Are you sure you can’t take me? I want to see him.”

                “Sam, I really can’t you’ll see him when he gets better. Maybe I’ll take him up here for a visit.”

                “You’d do that?”

                “Now that it’s a possibility, I’d be glad to. He’s your brother Sam. But I still urge you to keep your hopes at a reasonable level.”

                “I understand Cas.”

…

                The store room is chilly to prevent expiration of the medications within. He slips two pills into his pocket. _For Dean’s new sleeping habit_ he thinks as he scrawls across the designated line on the sign out form for stock purposes. _Though Dean sleeps just fine._ Castiel figures the numbers will add up in time if he needs them.

                He makes his way back to Dean’s room. Recently there’s been another patient in the bed across the room from his. A moody girl who didn’t speak much, kept her nose deep in a book and preferred to avoid all eye contact unless it was with her doctor. Who happened to be Evelyn. Dean didn’t really speak to her either, he felt unwelcome. And two weeks later the girl left and Castiel had enough pills to sedate someone.

                “Cas,” Dean greets him affectionately when he enters the room.

                “You’re really improving Dean,” Castiel makes his way to Dean to sit at his bed side. He looks up at Dean who’s sitting at the edge, swinging his legs over the side.

                “I am aren’t I?” Dean says proudly.

                “Yes you are.” Castiel says neatly, “Do you remember what I told you Dean? What I am?” Castiel waits a minute in silence; Dean’s just staring at him, mouth slightly agape.

                “Dean—”

                “You’re an angel,” His voice drops an octave, no longer light and curious but gruff and quite blunt.

                “Dean,” There’s recognition dawning in Dean’s eyes, Castiel’s brows furrow.

                “The one and only Cas,” Dean grins, “I suppose this isn’t the environment to do what I really want to.”

                “I wouldn’t let you Dean,” Castiel rubs at Dean’s hand comfortingly.

                “Reasonable, I told you I could get better.” Dean gives a crooked smile, his eyes knowing.

                Castiel sighs and Dean’s face falls slightly, “Dean we’ve been through this every time you break through. You’re still in a median. You’ve been in flux, knowing me one minute and not the next.”

                “I have?” He replies wide eyed, his lips forming a pout, he’s disappointed.

                “You’re trying your best Dean,” Castiel tries his best at praise, Dean knows what he’s getting at when he squeezes Castiel’s hand a bit tighter in acknowledgement, “yes, you’ll be in this state for a handful of minutes and then you’ll be gone again.”

                “But I am getting better right?”

                “Yes, week by week the time in this state increases—”

                “Cas, I’m gonna do this. I’m gonna get back for you, for me and for Sammy.” He says in hushed whisper.

                “I look forward to it Dean, I trust you.” Castiel chances at leaning up and kissing him quick.

                “For all of us Cas.” Dean says resolutely. He smiles slightly, before it falls away. He tilts his head and blinks hard.

                “Dean?” Castiel’s lips barely move and he pulls his hand away.

                “Cas, why are you looking at me that way?” Dean’s brows furrow. Dean’s gone.

                Castiel shakes his head to clear the past exchange.

                “Nothing, just checking….vitals,” Castiel says lamely. He turns back to his papers.

…

 

                “You’re telling me that Dean’s ready to leave the facility?” Amelia says three weeks later. She’s got one eyebrow raised and Castiel can’t deny the skepticism he sees from her.

                “He’s astounding me as well. For the last few days, there’s been no sign of regression. It’s Dean in that room and I have hope in this.”

                “I trust your judgment,” She makes her way around the counter, a bowl of sliced fruit in her hand. “Have you told Sam yet?” Amelia chews on a grape.

                “I’ve been too busy. I worked overtime the past few days to keep updates on Dean. I think he’s mostly recovered now. He’s comforted by the fact that Sam’s in heaven that he’s alright. I think that’s what bothered him. Not knowing how Sam was doing. But now he knows and it has helped him.”

                “I’m glad that---I’m thrilled Cas,” Amelia can’t help but chuckle next to him. “Are you sure—”

                Castiel can’t stop grinning; he wants so badly to cry. Dean’s really pulled through and the thought of having Dean back in his normal life, in this house, in his bed has a warm affection churning and sparking in his belly already.

                “I’m completely sure Amelia, I know this has been strained for a while, but Dean’s doing what he said he would, and he’s successful.” He can’t understand why Amelia still looks unconvinced. “What’s the problem?”

                “What did you mean by mostly recovered?” She puts down the bowl, it hits mutely against the counter.

                “Dean’s okay Amelia, shouldn’t you be happy about this? I meant nothing by it, I just—it’s just the small part of me that that believes he going to regress.” Castiel admits. He’s looking anywhere that isn’t Amelia.

                “I am happy Cas, it’s Dean and you’ve finally gotten him back and I’m happy for you. But that part of you that still thinking that is right to do so Cas. You’re thinking that for a reason—”

                “If Dean doesn’t stay improved I can’t forgive myself—”

                “You need to Cas, I’m not saying Dean is a lost cause, I’d never say that. But I don’t want to see you hung over every morning. You need to think about your own health—”

                “Dean’s my priority.” Castiel says bluntly, “He will go before me, always.”

                Amelia sighs, “If you think he’s okay, I believe you. I trust your judgment Cas.” Amelia’s hand twitches slightly, she resists the urge to touch him, to comfort. “If the offer is still open, I’d like to see him Cas.”

                Castiel looks like he may object, but instead he shifts his eyes to her and they’re hopeful, “I think he would like to see you as well.”

                 

 

…

                “Classic rock girl are you?” Dean’s joking as Castiel opens the door. Dean looks up and his features soften, Evelyn’s cheeks are flushed as she in turn stands.

                “I brought him a visitor if that’s fine—” Castiel begins.

                “Of course,” Evelyn smiles, “I can give you some privacy if that you would like,” Evelyn heads past Castiel. She waves at Dean before she leaves.

                “I’ll see you.” Dean waves back, grinning.

                As soon as the door is shut Dean is standing and meeting Castiel halfway, taking him in his arms and holding him tight. Dean’s hands clutch at Castiel’s coat, buried in the material, he pulls back just far enough to plant a kiss on Castiel’s lips, his own curved in happiness. Castiel can’t stop smiling, his cheeks are beginning to ache.

 Dean pulls himself out of Castiel’s arms to then face Amelia who’s standing behind Castiel.

                “C’mere sweetheart,” Dean welcomes Amelia into him, she grasps at Dean’s thin shirt, suppresses a relieved sob in his chest.

                “What brings you two here? Cas, it’s your day off.” Dean leads them back to his space. He sits down on the bed.

                “I wanted Amelia to see how you’re doing.” Castiel says.

                “Apparently he’d been holding in the news for a few days now.” She adds.

                “It was a precaution in case—”

                “In case I relapsed, it was smart of him to do so. I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up.” Dean cuts in when Castiel doesn’t finish.

                “Dean, I’ve been thinking, you’ve been here for a while now.” Castiel is leading up to something and it’s making Dean fidget.

                “I’ve practically lived here, I’d leave on my own if it wasn’t for you telling me I had to stay. Whatever you say Dr. Cas.” Dean rubs at his arm.         

                “I want to check you out today.”

                “You—what?” Dean jaw gapes open. “I get to leave?” His grins getting wider by the second.

                “I brought you a pair of clothes and everything. I’ve already done the paperwork. If you want.” Castiel looks down because he doesn’t want Dean seeing the toothy smile he can’t help but have at the thought of Dean around him again.

                “Hell yeah I want to leave, come on Cas.” Dean stands again. He’s teetering on his heels, restless. “These clothes are pretty comfortable but I’m ready for my coat again. Can I drive?”

                “Your own car?” Castiel only shallowly considers it, “no.”

                “It’s my car Cas.” Dean tries in vain to reason.

                “Yes it is your car Dean, however you haven’t driven in over six months now.”  

                “It’s like a bicycle Cas, and I actually know how to use one of those too.”               Dean crosses his arms and Castiel just raises an eyebrow.

                “That doesn’t change anything.” Castiel says with a finality that has Dean grasping at straws for a comeback.

                “I could drive as well if you guys are unable to make common ground.” Amelia chimes in and Dean laughs. It’s a laugh that has Castiel’s eyes prickling.

…

                The jeans fit loosely across Dean’s hips.

                “I need a belt.” Dean hisses. “Give me yours.” He urges.

                “I was preparing to.” Castiel works at the buckle and begins pulling it from the loops.

                Dean’s hands rest on Castiel’s pants button, but Castiel moves back out of Dean’s grip.

                “Amelia’s waiting outside.” Castiel reasons.

                “Yeah, and we’re in here.” Dean smirks suggestively, licks his lip. “I miss it.”

                “Are you really telling me you missed a part of me?” Castiel hands Dean the belt, pulls at his own pants until he’s comfortable again.

                “No the whole thing, but the parts are a plus.” Dean mouths at Castiel’s lips and jaw as he fastens the belt around himself. “God, I’m a damn stick what are we eating?”

                “Dinner at Amelia’s.” Castiel smooths his shirt back over his pants. “We live there now.”

                “Oh, I forgot.” He says good naturedly. “Are you ready?” Dean pulls the navy long sleeve shirt over his head, it hangs from his frame, covers his slightly protruding ribs.

                “Yes,” Castiel has the bundle of Dean’s uniform in his arms.

Amelia dotes on him like a child the next day and to Castiel’s chagrin, Dean’s not exactly refusing it either. It’s one of the lighter dinners they’d had together. Amelia’s isn’t just picking at the food and mixing it bitterly around the plate. Castiel finds himself eating better as well. With another mouth in the house Amelia finds herself going grocery shopping two days earlier.

                “So this is our room huh?” Dean’s hands skim the wall two days later, having gone back for additional updates Dean subsequently spent the night there.

                Castiel hums in answer. “I’d already brought in your clothes.”

                “Aren’t you just the most prepared?” Dean turns to sheath his hand against Castiel’s waist.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go shopping with Amelia, you haven’t gone anywhere in a long time.”

                “I thought we could do something else.” Dean alludes, only for Castiel raise an eyebrow clearly in disagreement with the idea. Dean only slightly falters.

                “I guess I could keep her some company.” Dean scratches at his neck, his hand lingering on Castiel’s back before he disappears out the door.

                “Hey,” Dean appears again, “why don’t you come?” Dean grabs his hand and Castiel finds it difficult to refuse.

                The trip is proving to be more stressful than Castiel had bargained for.  Dean wanders the aisles like factions of an amusement park, rubbing at his stomach and constantly informing Castiel of the hunger he’s having. Amelia happily shops for the necessities on her own, for Castiel’s preoccupied with following Dean around and declining nicely when Dean ends up with an armful of groceries before gets to or finds the cart. By the end, Dean’s yawning and complaining about the ache in legs that he owes to half a year full of a sedentary life style. 

                They make it back to the house in late evening, they both help with the groceries. Castiel urges for Dean to meet him upstairs after he helps Amelia with the bags. Dean obeys without much resistance and heads up the stairs, hands in his pockets.

                “I told Amelia good night if you’re not going back down there.” Dean says when enters the room, closes the door behind him.

                “That’s fine Dean,” Castiel says from his spot on the right side of the bed. They’re both silent as they get ready for bed and it’s unusual for Castiel, he thought they’d be all over each other, and that there wouldn’t be a silent moment for either of them.

                “Cas?” Dean says as he pulls off his shirt, throws it to the floor. “How was it when I wasn’t around?” He works at his pants buttons.

                “Lonely.” Is all Castiel says. He gives Dean a placating look, as he too pulls at his shirt. He folds it messily before dropping gently to the floor at his bedside. He burrows beneath his blanket, stares at the ceiling. “Amelia helped me.”

                “I’m glad she did,” Dean leaves his pants crumpled on the floor as well and makes his way to the other side of the bed. “I would’ve never made it back if it hadn’t been for you. You did make the journey into my head. No one else would have done that for me. Well maybe Sammy, but he’s not an angel…”

                “I’m not really not one either,” Castiel breathes, tries to convince himself that this power isn’t his, that he doesn’t deserve it anymore. “He’s okay you know, he says not to worry Dean. There was nothing to worry about.”

                “You may consider yourself some weird human angel hybrid, but you’re still an angel Cas,” Dean’s lips are tight, “Dean’s angel,” Dean mutters happily to himself, “I don’t have three but I’ll make do with the one I’ve got,” He slaps Castiel playfully across his thigh.

                “I’m happy he’s fine, not that I expected him to go to hell, that’s a change huh? It was just the thought of life without him, never speaking to him again. That was the thought that scared me. I’m sure it would’ve passed. But not fast enough. Just the stages of grief thing I guess.” Dean’s serious again. He bites his lips and stares at Castiel.

                Castiel makes a noise in agreement.

                “That’s understandable,” Castiel says in a clipped tone, “I was wrong to underestimate the effect that Sam’s death would have on you. It was stupid of me to do what I did. I should have stayed, I should’ve comforted you—I should’ve—”

                “Cas,” Dean twists, takes Castiel’s face in his hands, “Stop,” His lip quivers, brows drawn together. Dean drops his eyeline, stares pointedly at the blanket that covers them both. He lets out a heavy breath. “I don’t need you to blame yourself for all of this, we’ve both got enough to be guilty about,” He comes in close, places a kiss against Castiel’s jaw, a warm, slow drag of lips. “Cas, I want this to be us walking out of the fire, getting better,” Dean takes Castiel’s hand in his own, squeezes it gently, affectionately. “Please,”

                Castiel shifts his gaze from their intertwined fingers to Dean’s face. He sees the concern in the curve of Dean’s brow, the tightness in his lips. Part of Castiel wants so badly to believe Dean, that they’ll stand up from all this and somehow become more inseparable than they were before. The other part wants to escape the situation all together, hide with the fear of the chance that Dean may regress again.

                “Let me comfort you Cas, it’s my turn to tell you that everything will be okay, I’ve messed up alright—”

                “Dean—”

                “I can at least do this Cas, just let me—” Dean stops, seemingly lost for words.

                “You can’t blame yourself either, Dean we can’t keep passing the blame, we’re both at fault, and I don’t want—” Castiel stares into Dean’s eyes and he sees what he wants. He wants this is to work. He wants all of it. He wants Dean.

                “You want what?” Dean urges.

                “All of this. You.” Castiel says as steady as he can manage. His lip trembles and for one horrible second he thinks that Dean will, somehow after all that had happened, reject him.

                Dean kisses him gently, their lips barely touching. Runs his hand along Castiel’s cheek, thoughtfully and comforting.

                They don’t speak much after that, Castiel turns out the light, it goes off with a click and they’re sunken into the eight o’clock darkness. There’s still an outline of Dean’s skin from the waning light from the open window.

                Castiel reaches a hand over and skims the visible skin. His fingers nimble and barely touching, they travel down his chest, briefly at his belly before dropping back onto the bed. The warm skin is Castiel’s refuge.

Castiel feels Dean shifting, and he feels dry lips press at his collar, a hand snake its way across his middle.

                Dean pulls himself over, covers Castiel with his own body, their legs alternating.

                “Cas,” Dean breathes, grinds his hips slowly against Castiel’s own. Needy despite the pace.

                All Castiel can do is choke out a small whimper, cradle Dean’s face in his hands and bring him closer.

                Spit slick lips brush over each other, hot breath swimming between them, Castiel’s tongues at the seam of Dean’s lips, slips in and they curl together.

                Castiel pulls away breathless, his hands grabbing at Dean’s skin through his underwear, the heel of his palm pushing at the waistband. Dean grunts, breathes hard.

                “Dean,” Castiel sighs, mouth wide open. Dean leans down licks at Castiel’s wet lips, huffs his own tired breath into him.

                Dean pulls back to grasp at Castiel’s boxers, Castiel lifts his hips without question. His dick lies half hard across his belly.

                His own hands pull down at Dean’s, only far enough to let his cock free. They rut hungrily at each other until they’re both panting, his hands searching Dean’s face and throat leaving hot sweaty prints along his skin.

                Castiel is a mess of cool air against even hotter skin, Dean’s pressed so close and it’s all a dull ache in Castiel’s chest, a welcome throb that matches the blood coursing through his cock. He closes his eyes and revels in the feel of Dean’s hands on him, his lips against him.

                It’s passing so fast and Dean’s already sinking down, taking as much of him in as he can. Castiel chokes out a low groan when their hips slot together. Dean’s breathing hard, running his hands across Castiel’s belly and shifting his hips in small movements, worrying at his lip with a tense jaw.

                There’s no set pace and it’s messy and the air is thick. Dean’s eyes are closed, focused primarily on the every move of Castiel’s hips as well as his own. He bows forward, buries his face in the pillow next to Castiel’s shoulder, let’s out a shuddering moan, stifles it with the pillow.

                “Cas,” Dean’s panting, bites at Castiel’s shoulder, a sharp shot of pain jolts through Castiel and in turn his breath falters. Hitches and he’s lost for anything, Castiel grasps at any part of Dean he can with sweaty palms, his fingers dig into the slick skin.

                Dean comes first untouched, come spurting across Castiel’s stomach and dribbling down his own cock. He’s whimpering when he lifts his hips and lets Castiel slip out of him. Dean pumps him quickly with one hand, the other smearing the come across Castiel’s belly when he clutches at the skin.

                Castiel comes with Dean’s name on his lips, tries hard to stop himself, but it’s no use.

Dean doesn’t bother cleaning, instead moves himself to lie against Castiel, get as close as possible.

“I want you Cas,” Dean mumbles, “I love you.” The admittance would have made Castiel seize up if he wasn’t so exhausted. Instead, he runs his hand to Dean’s shoulder, rests it across the spot that was Dean’s salvation.

“I love you Dean,” Castiel aims a kiss for Dean’s forehead, turns his head and brushes his lips against Dean’s hairline. To keep Dean there with him, would mean everything to him. And Castiel wonders why he always wanted this. And it’s because of this, Castiel breaths in the thick scent of themselves, of sweat and come, the faint fragrance of the detergent, his eyes slide closed and it’s all worth it.

…

 

                Amelia muttering his name is what he wakes up to the next morning. Castiel instinctively looks to his side and Dean’s not there.

He then looks at Amelia for answers, she’s covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide she’s visibly shaken.

                “What?”  Castiel snaps up in bed, and he doesn’t have to ask anymore.

                Dean’s cowering in the corner, clutching a sheet close to his body, ragged breaths passing his lips. Castiel’s stomach knots faster than he thought possible and his breath shallows.

“Dean.” Castiel mouths, he looks back at Amelia who hands him a robe with shaking hands. He slides the robe on roughly, and throws the blanket to the side. On light feet that defy the shaking in his own hands, he’s steps slowly towards Dean. Castiel wants rock himself in a corner, in this moment he’s truly afraid.

                He reaches out a hand, as steady as he can make it. Dean’s body tremors harder the closer Castiel gets.

                “Cas, stop!” Amelia stops him in his tracks. “He’s afraid Cas,”

                “I get that Amelia.” Castiel hisses back.

                “I can do it.” She says firmly. “Step back.”

                Castiel does as she says. He sees the relief in Dean’s eyes as the distance increases. He stops when he bumps into Amelia’s arm. She gives him a gentle, placating look before approaching Dean herself. The trembling stops long enough for Amelia to whisper something to him, something to Dean that Castiel can’t catch before she’s slowly helping him to his feet.

                “Cas give me your robe will you?” She says anxiously, Castiel does so, picks the blanket from the bed and wraps it around himself.

                “I’m gonna take him back alright, just sit tight since you can’t come, I’ll be back.” She’s biting white at her lips, he sees the sorry in her eyes before she turns around and presses comfortingly Dean’s huddled over figure, her hand a calm staple on his back.

                Castiel hears the car door closing, the engine revving and then it’s gone. He wipes angrily at his face, rubs at his eyes with his palms and cries. He wanders aimlessly around the rooms, the blanket on the floor and forgotten. The physical bareness was nothing compared to the raw vulnerability he felt when Dean rejected him. Dean had a chance to end it and Castiel took another because he thought it was worth it. This? This new breed of pain wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth seeing Dean’s smooth features contorted in pleasure or the way it made his own cock harden. Or the way Dean kissed him just because he could or held him close like a he might disappear or something. It’s simply wasn’t worth it if he couldn’t keep Dean.

                Castiel washes numbly in the bathroom. Lets the dried semen wash away down the drain, swirling and drowning like this horrid plan they’d convince themselves would work. He’d never seen Dean that rattled. This was worse than the state Castiel had found him in. Dean was now a prisoner of his own mind and Castiel felt he may be trapped in there if they don’t do something.

                He pulls on his own shirt and a pair of pants, toes at his shoes and dons a coat. Castiel realizes he can’t do this alone anymore, that he’ll go mad if he has to.

                He needs Sam.

                After purposely leaving his phone on the nightstand, he doesn’t need any calls or means of finding him. Figures he should leave before Amelia arrives lest she persuade him to stay. Castiel grabs his keys and locks the door behind him. He drives to the motel closest to the cemetery that he can find. It’s a dingy one with old yellow paint and dim front lights that make it unclear whether or not they’ve got vacancies. He waits in the dark of the room for the span of the day. Castiel doesn’t think about Amelia worrying about him even if it does make him feel slightly guilty. However the task at hand appears more significant.

                The sun’s dipping beneath the horizon when Castiel wakes from a half delirious sleep. He heads out once more. The parking lot is empty so he settles for leaving the car around the perimeter where it won’t be spotted.

                He makes his way towards Sam’s grave, Dean’s shovel slung over his shoulder. Castiel’s falls to his knees on the plot. _This is the plan of a desperate man_ Castiel thinks as he feels the wisps of grass between his fingers, the soft soil beneath his palms before he scratches at the dirt like a dog. He only manages a few messy inches before he stands and begins digging with the shovel.

                Castiel only digs until the front half of the coffin is visible. The wood’s still retained a polished quality. He rests his knees against the planks, feels the dead energy beneath him, fingers tapping a toneless melody against the wood where Sam’s face rests only inches away.

                The tapping calms him as he coaxes himself out of his vessel, his own grace swirling and shifting much like the unrest of water down the drain. Finds himself speeding away from Earth and closer to the lone house bathed in eternal sunshine.

                Sam’s outside, his hands are wrist deep in sifted soil.

                “Sam,” Castiel calls, sees Sam clap his gloved hands over his ears and twist around to the supposed threat. Castiel’s dimly aware of Sam calling his name, the loud sound questioning him.

                “I’m taking you.” Castiel tries to say as he materializes there in front of Sam.

Sam’s eyes go comically wide at the presence of the angel in front of him. Castiel’s all shining light and tangible grace and black wings fanning enough to gust the wind with each flap.  Enochian symbols cover his thin silver body, lean and towering, masks glinting in the peeks of sunlight from the smudges of clouds intertwined with grace that surrounds him.

Sam’s face is thrown into bright relief as he stumbles closer, strong winds inhibiting him, and for once the house is no longer consumed in sunlight but submerged into a celestial darkness.

                “Cas!” Sam shouts, he’s not sure if Castiel can even hear him, “Take me!” he bellows as loud as he can.

                Castiel raises a spindly hand, long fingers and small palm, places it across Sam’s collar above his heart. “I’m resurrecting Sam Winchester.” _Come stop me Death._ The skin swells underneath his palm, the soul of the younger Winchester curls within him comforting and familial.

                “I’m taking you to earth.” He says to the soul tucked safely inside him. The language is unearthly but somehow he knows Sam can understand.

                And with that Castiel juts from heaven.


	3. Part Three

Castiel finds himself in nothingness. His own large wings folding around him shift the stagnant smells of decay and old soil. Sam’s corporeal body lies in front of him, there and better preserved than Dean’s had been.

                It’s then he gives the vessel life. The skin deepens and flushes and colors. Congealed blood melts, reddens and flows towards a heart that begins to beat and beat and beat. He gives the lungs breath and rise full of air. The chest rises and the muscles stretch and shift. Castiel gives those green and hazel eyes sight. They appear bright and glossy in the light. Castiel takes the soul in his palm, it glows brightly near its receptacle. Castiel assures it of a safe transfer and lets it seep from his core to the vessel’s. Like roots of a tree they travel down his arm to the where his hands connects to the Sam’s chest. The physical skin rises angrily under his hand and it burns.

                There’s a sharp tug at his grace, it’s reeling him back to his own vessel.

                Castiel blinks and looks down at his hands.

                Dirty and human.

                There’s a rumble beneath him, a grasping breath and a rasp of a shout. Castiel’s snapped back into the reality of the situation.

                “Cas, Cas? I’m here! Help me!” He’s banging against the roof of the coffin.

                Castiel scrambles at the cover, he flings it open and lunges his arm into the space. He feels a large hand grip around his wrist and Castiel pulls as hard as he can. He stands and heaves Sam over the steady slope to the rim of the grave. Castiel lies there breathing hard while Sam’s gasping for breath. The night air is sharp on the intake.

                “Are you alright?” Castiel pants, lies his head down on the grass.

                “I’m fine,” Sam pulls himself to his feet, he teeters briefly before holding out a hand for Castiel to grab a hold of. Castiel takes it and allows Sam to help him to his feet.

                They both stand there looking tired and worried there’s a second where Sam looks at Castiel will a look of pure relief before Sam brings Castiel into a hug. Castiel holds onto his back tightly, wrinkling the navy suit he was buried in.

                When they pull away, Castiel sees the relief has faded quickly into panic.

                “I’ll explain.” Is all Castiel says before he hands Sam the shovel he brought. Sam shrugs before taking it. He’s commenting on how unusual it is to be burying his own grave before Castiel’s urging them both to leave lest people show up, Amelia included.

                Sam’s already abandoned his coat in the back seat. He’s got the sleeves of the button down rolled up to his elbows once they’ve reached to the motel.

                “Sam I’ve made a mistake.” Castiel scratches at his head, blunt nails trailing along his scalp.

                “What happened?” Sam says, dread beginning to overcome him, “Where’s Dean?”

                “He’s back at the facility—”

                “What do you mean _back_? Where has he been?”

                “It was alright… at first.  I waited a few days and he was completely fine, I checked him out two days ago and he was Dean again. But this morning—when I awoke—” His words are coming out in a rush and his chest is heaving.

                “Cas, calm down.” Sam comes in closer. Though the crowding is the least of Castiel’s needs he appreciates the sentiment.

                “We’ve still got plan B right? To be honest plan B is the only thing that’s keeping me from panicking too.”

                “We do, but Dean-- he can barely even speak again much less find himself—” Castiel stands and stumbles to the table, where he’d left a brown paper bag. He opens it and tosses a small package to Sam.

                “What’s this?” Sam looks through the translucent packaging. “A cell phone?”

                “Prepaid.” Castiel peels open the cardboard pack and pulls out a beer. “I figured you’d need one—” Castiel hiccups as he unscrews the cap. He takes a heavy gulp before offering Sam one, he shakes his head. Between the beers and the sleeping and resurrecting Sam, Castiel had forgotten all about leaving his own phone back at the house. All that seemed a world away.

                “Alright, it looks like you’re drinking mind if I go see Amelia?” Sam pointedly stares Castiel in the face.

                “I’m afraid you can’t Sam—” Castiel begins.

                “The hell I can’t Cas—”

                “You’re impermanent—”

                “Why can’t—what? What does that mean?” Sam’s jaw tenses.

                “You’re in a fragile state Sam, without my grace you’ll be drawn back to heaven, you’ve already been away too long. It’s not natural.”

                “Wait so let me get this straight I can’t leave because I’ll be drawn back to heaven? And the only way to _keep_ my standing here is if I’m next to you the whole time?”

                “Precisely.” Castiel sits back down on the couch, nurses the beer in his lap. “With my presence your soul is suppressed. By being near you I’m giving your soul signal it’ll be reaped soon. My grace keeps your soul attached.”

                “Then why don’t you come with me then?”

                “Do you want to cause Amelia that pain, renew that wound she’s just recently begun to heal Sam? She’s doing better, I believe it would be best if you leave her be. Amelia and I have become good friends. I’ve helped her in ways I didn’t think I was capable of, not anymore anyway. You’ll have to go back Sam. Eventually.  I’m sorry.”

                Sam doesn’t argue the point because he acknowledges that Castiel has made a very convincing case. Soon enough, Castiel’s drinking like there’s no tomorrow and he falls asleep shortly after. The feeling of unbelievable relief and the fact that he’s no longer completely alone simmers in his gut.

…

                Castiel is sleeping soundly splayed across the couch his coat in his lap. Sam grabs the keys Castiel had left on the table and heads out without a second glance. He assures himself he’ll be back before Castiel wakes.

                There’s a pang in his gut, but he ignores it. The drive goes better than he imagined, short of a few cases of pushing the gas harder than he should have because he’s not used to the car just yet, but it smooths out towards the end.

                Sam’s got one foot on Amelia’s doorstep when he’s hit with a wave of dizziness, he’s woozy and there’s an uncomfortable churning in his gut. He teeters back onto his heels and slaps a hand onto the railing to keep standing. He plunges his hand into his pocket for the phone. Castiel was right. He dials the number he last remembers as Castiel’s and presses the call button.

                His heart drops and he’s sure it isn’t from his soul detaching.

                “Cas? You bastard where the hell have you been—”

                When Sam doesn’t reply she’s still calling Castiel’s name.

                “Cas? Cas, do you need any help? Where are you?”

                “Amelia?” Sam’s voice trembles into the receiver against his better judgment.

                “Cas, is that you?” Her voice is small fighting her own commonsense.

                “Amelia, I need help,” Sam says, his heart is thundering in his chest and he’s sure if it’s because of Amelia or his soul that’s currently trying to break free.

                His vision drifts in and out of focus, he sees Amelia finding him outside her door, the small tear that leaks out of her eye when she holds him close then his own shaky voice telling her the location of the motel and then she’s reaching into his pocket for the keys. Sam stumbles to the impala in her arms, nearly falls into the front seat and lets her take control of the situation. Her limbs are ridged and subsequently so I her driving, they narrowly miss a crash, Sam’s hard pressed to say much from where he’s slumped in against the window.

                Castiel’s stirring when Amelia busts through the door, her smaller frame holding up what she can of Sam’s.

                “Cas!” Amelia shouts without pretense. His eyes snap open and he takes in the scene in front of him. Castiel practically falls off the couch in haste to reach Sam.

                “He left didn’t he?” Castiel places a hand on Sam’s cheek. “He just needs to stay near me for now, his soul’s beginning to calm already.”

                Sam feels the sudden drop and realizes Amelia’s depositing him onto the bed. Sam’s falls into a sound sleep not long after. He hears Castiel speaking and Amelia who sounds quite angry when she replies. He assumes Castiel’s telling her about what plan B is. He wants to chuckle in spite of it all but he finds himself too sluggish to do much other than lay there.

                He’s half certain Amelia stays when he fails to hear the car leave right outside the door. Amelia’s rubbing his side soothingly when he wakes later that morning.

                “Sam, sweetheart,” She leans over to come closer, places a hand his face, “Are you feeling better? We’re visiting Dean and we both want you to come along. Sam almost jackknifes out of bed.

                “Of course I’m going, where’s Cas?” he looks around.

                “Don’t panic or anything he’s right outside. Come on we should get going.

                “Of course.”

                He walks fine on his own out the door, sees Castiel sitting alone in the front seat, that’s when Sam takes note of the white pants and tee shirt.

                “So you do work huh?” Sam makes his way to Cas after Amelia tells them both she’ll check them out of the room and disappears to the front desk.

                “As I told you, I must. To watch Dean.” Castiel rubs at his temples, there’s an apparent headache ebbing beneath the skin.

                “I can drive it’s no problem.” Sam suggests.

                “I can manage.” Castiel says.

…

 

                They reach the facility within half an hour.

                Sam practically falls into the room in his haste. Castiel stays with Amelia on the other side of the room. And even then Castiel can hear everything.

                “Look at him—” Sam rushes to Dean’s side “Dean—” he’s sniffling and mumbling to a brother who doesn’t even know he’s there.

                “You’re my big brother, you can’t be…I’m okay Dean, I’m okay. There was nothing to worry about—” Sam’s rendered almost speechless. He places his palm on Dean’s cheek. Dean doesn’t shy away and yet he doesn’t react either.

                Castiel can hear him crying from the doorway, Amelia’s clutching at his sleeve again, suppressing her own quiet sobs. Castiel can see the way Dean’s hand tightens on Sam’s arm the way his mouth opens to speak and he knows what’s happening but can’t bear to witness it.

                Sam comes out twenty minutes later, his arm around Amelia.

                “Are planning on staying until my shifts over?” Castiel asks them from his seat right outside the door.

                “I haven’t got a choice do I?” Sam says thickly.

                Sam and Amelia are both sitting in an otherwise empty waiting room when Castiel approaches them.

                “What did Dean say?” Castiel sits down in a spare seat, “I’ve got a break currently.” He adds.

                “Well, he cried a bit first.” Sam says fondly, quietly. “Then he told me that he didn’t mean for that to happen Cas,”

                “What did he tell you?”

                “He told me everything, he’s trapped Cas, the alternative plan is the only one we’ve got left.” Castiel was afraid Sam would say that and now that he has, the prospect actually becomes less intimidating.

                “Is it?” Castiel murmurs. “Did he say anything else?”

                “Yeah, he said if you’re ready to do it so is he.” Sam says with a huff.

                “I see.” Castiel chews at his lip.

                “Cas?” Amelia finally speaks up. “How are you doing? How was Dean?”

                “I’m just trying to do what I can to help. I haven’t really watched Dean today, I figured I’d give him some space from me, I have Evelyn taking my watch and I just wandered around helping others today. Though I did just spend the last hour with him, he mumbled Sam’s name the whole time. Fortunately he didn’t shudder away when he saw me. I figure it was just the shock of waking up somewhere unfamiliar.” Castiel would like to believe that, be he knows that Dean was afraid of him, and that feeling had already kick started the painful ache in his chest.

                “I glad it’s better, so you’re going with the plan B I take it?” Amelia asks gently.

                “Yes.” He says simply.

                “Cas?”

                “What Sam?”

                “Cas, I think it’s my soul, I don’t—” Sam’s got on hands tensed on his thigh and the other on Amelia’s wrist like he’s trying to steady himself.

                “I may have to take you back prematurely. I think your body’s beginning to reject your soul.”

               

…

 

                “Even with me next to him, this amount of time without a reaping is unnatural, his soul wants to leave and seek a reaper.” Castiel says by Sam’s bed side.

                “Are you going to be your true form again?” Sam asks from his lying position. Amelia’s holding one of his hands.

                “I don’t need to when it comes to delivering you, but taking you the reverse it was necessary. Amelia, if I don’t return soon enough, if it’s not too much trouble you’ll have to bury him on your own, the shovels in the trunk.”

                “I can do that if I have to.” She says biting her lip and looks down at Sam who squeezes her hand tighter between his own.

                “Are you ready Sam?”

                Sam nods before raising his head to give Amelia a quick kiss. Castiel places his hand against Sam’s heart once again, gives Amelia a thoughtful look before his eyes go an icy white. The roots of blue curl up his arms once again, he’s only just seen Sam go limp on the bed before he’s transporting to heaven. The lone house sits there empty and there’s but one difference besides Sam missing. The sun seems to be missing as well.

                Castiel mumbles in quick Enochian to the air in front of him, raising a hand and letting the soul flood from his skin. He blinks hard once and Sam’s materializing in front of him.

                Castiel opens his mouth to speak, “Sam.” He says to the polished black and white office. Death faces him and his expression is none too amused.

                “Castiel, I’ve been waiting for you to return.”

                “I had to, it was with utmost importance that I took Sam. I’ve returned him without any collateral. This will not happen again I promise you—”

                “As you did before I divulged to you the location of Sam Winchester.”

                “I’m not one to betray—”

                “Says who? The angels? Your family? The Winchesters themselves? Castiel, I’m not one to let things slip or take any iou as word.”

                “I—Dean will be dead soon and there will be no need.”

                “Is that true?” Death raises a curious brow.

                “Yes, Dean is as of late trapped in his own mind and there’s no way to end his suffering other than ending his life.” Castiel swallows.

                “Castiel I do not take word as gospel. The day you cease to resurrect these boys is the day I cease to suspect you.”

                “There’s absolutely no need to suspect me anymore. I’ll be in heaven when they’re both located here. Bringing them back will no longer be an issue.”

                “These boys’ haven will be barred from myself if they must. The apocalypse is a long since happened event. The two angels are locked in a cage and I see no reason to give them any reason to break free.” Death stands behind his desk, there a cup of tea cooling on the surface.

                “I understand that. These boys will not be alive again unless god himself commands it.” Castiel says firmly. “And even then--I must go.”

                Castiel transports without waiting for a reply. He lands in Amelia’s living room, she stops mid sob to face him from the dinner table. He sees the dirt and grass stains on her pants legs and sleeves.

                “I assume you’ve done it?” Castiel approaches her and places a gentle hand on her shoulder.

                “We wait now?” She murmurs to him.

                “We wait.”

…

 

                Two more weeks pass in a quiet fashion. There are no signs of Dean recovering or improving whatsoever. He doesn’t speak anymore. Not even to mumble Sam’s name. He rocks back and forth on his bed sheet. Evelyn still watches Dean in his stead, she figures Castiel can’t handle much more. Castiel’s both relieved and disappointed in taking her suggestion. She helped feed him though recently he began to refuse food and since then they’ve had to inject nutrients intravenously. He lies there in the bed and faces the ceiling thinks of nothing and steadily becomes nothing himself.

                By then Castiel has a full bottles worth of medication, slips them deep into Dean’s shoes every night before he leaves for the night.

                It happens one morning in the middle of the third week. It’s Evelyn that finds him, lying there lifeless in his bed. She calls 911 for a man who didn’t need to be saved. Not anymore.

                Castiel stopped showing up for work after that, he remembers every word of the call that day. Evelyn's voice borders incoherent as she speaks to Castiel despite being known for her calm nature, he ends up comforting her instead and after that she never hears from him again.

                It’s just Amelia and him at the funeral sitting there once again beneath dappled shadows of trees that hang over the paths and the plots. They stare at the grave next to Sam’s with lost eyes.

                Amelia sniffles, “Cas?”

                “This is much more difficult than I imagined it would be.” Castiel chuckles bitterly.

                “You’ll see him again. It’s unusual isn’t it? I don’t know if I’ll see either of them again—”

                “I guaranteed you that you would didn’t I? That’s why I’m confused I’m seeing them again and yet it’s like they’re both lost to me.”

                “A promise can be broken Cas.”

                “When soul mates die, they share a heaven.”

                “What are you saying?”

                “If you’re Sam’s soulmate then you’ll see him again.”

                “I’m supposed to be comforting you Cas,” She cuddles in closer, intertwines their fingers closer together. “You’re not coming back are you?”

                “After I deliver Dean to heaven I will stay with him. But I’ll come back for you Amelia, I won’t leave you alone.”

…

                That night, Castiel makes his way to Dean’s grave, a shovel slung over his shoulder. The cool air bites at his throat, raises the skin there but it doesn’t do much to deter him.

                Amelia watches him dig from her spot curled on the grass, one of her hands in her pocket clutching at the impala’s keys, her cheeks are dry and tear stained. She’s got his coat wrapped around her shoulders and her head resting against her arms.  Castiel hears her sniffling every now and again; he tries to drown it out with the shift of dirt.

                He quickly reaches the coffin but cannot bring himself to open it. Castiel climbs out of the hole, away from Dean, away from the gentle energy that tempts him to come back. He brushes at his pants and then his shirt eyes trained on Amelia who’s in turn is staring straight at him. She’s pale and tired looking and Castiel can’t begin to imagine how she’s feeling.

                Castiel plants himself in front of her.

                “You didn’t do it did you?” She says quietly.

                “Not yet.” Castiel replies shortly, he rubs at his eyes and lets out a sigh. “I’m not leaving you.” Castiel can barely see her expression in the darkness but he gets enough of an idea from her slumping silhouette.

                She chews her lip, “it’s okay you know,” Amelia draws his coat closer, “it’s Dean Cas, and you deserve to be happy and staying down here won’t make you happy.” Her rasp of a voice is gentle.

                “I’ll visit you—”

                “You don’t—”

                “You can’t convince me otherwise.” Castiel says with the straightest face he can manage even if he is a mess inside.

                “Alright,” She swallows, reaches out a hand and lays it on Castiel’s shoulder, “You should go though, I’ll see you.” She gives him a slight smile before leaning in and kissing his cheek.

                Castiel opens the coffin and stares into the still face of Dean. He places a warm hand across Dean’s throat feels the lack of pulse and cold skin. Looks into eyes that’ll never open again, Castiel mumbles between them, taking the lone soul onto himself, just as he’d done in hell. He’ll pull Dean’s soul from the pit one last time. 


	4. Part Four: End

The release of Dean’s soul into heaven was like abandoning a part of himself. Castiel knows it’s up to Dean to find his own haven. Castiel cannot follow, only find. He’s curled up on Sam’s couch, chin resting on his knees, he’s as restless as Sam who won’t stop pacing.

                “When is Dean getting here? Assuming he’s my soul mate? If he still is.” Sam says into the silence. Castiel shrugs, closes his eyes.

                “He’ll show when he shows. I can’t give you an estimate. It all depends on how long it takes Dean to find his own heaven.” Castiel can barely contain himself. There’s a spark of excitement just underneath the surface.

                “And if he’s not?” Sam asks.

                “Then it’s up to other angels to give me word. Calm down Sam. We’ll hopefully hear about him eventually.”

                “I’m trying. It’s just Dean’s okay now isn’t he?” He’s trying to staple the grin pulling at his lips.

                “Yes he is.” Castiel smiles to himself.

                They’ve sat in silence most of the day, how ever long that had been. Sam’s moving about the house on legs that wouldn’t allow him to sit still. And Castiel is rendered immobile with anxiety. Part of him is terrified of the chance that even this plan may not have worked and Castiel’s going to find Dean rocking himself in the corner of his heaven. And that to Castiel will be anything but.  His eyes follow Sam as he traverses the rooms and paces back and forth in front of Castiel.

                There’s a shift in the grace surrounding him and Castiel’s head perks. Sam notices the change in his posture immediately.

                “What is it?” Sam’s stares in Castiel’s direction, hopes for good news.

                “There’s an angel approaching.” Castiel shifts to his feet, stands next to Sam.

                She appears in the center of the room, six large wings stretching the span of it.  

                “Azrael, is there news?” Castiel asks, he steps closer.

                “Castiel, I believe I’ve found him.” Azrael says to them both. Sam starts grinning but Castiel’s still grim looking.

                “So he’s on his own?” Castiel says lips tight. The tightness in his gut increases tenfold.

                “Yes. He may be a large part of Sam but he’s no longer his soul mate.” She explains, her wings fold in, curl towards her body. Castiel takes mental note to tell Amelia.

                “Can you take me to him—” Castiel begins.

                “Azrael? Angel of Death?” Sam edges his way around one wing.

                “Yes, I am.  Sam Winchester, you’ve got a dedicated family, one of the lucky ones.”  She says, pushes playfully at his chest with a middle wing, he actually stumbles back.

                Sam shrugs, tries to play it off, “I guess.” There’s small quirk of his lips.

                “Sam, I’m going ahead—” Castiel says.

                “Take—I want you go first. Without me.” Sam’s brows draw together and he understands what the gesture of letting Castiel go first means. “You need to do this.”

                “I—thank you Sam,” Castiel lays a hand across Sam’s shoulder, gives him a thoughtful look. “I’ll return soon Sam.”

…

 

                 

                They both land in a wide field. A few yards away Castiel can see the Impala parked among the golden stalks of dried grass. The sun is once again beating down upon them and all Castiel can do is let the heat comfort him the way it did in Sam’s heaven.

                “He’s there Castiel.” Azrael points towards the small clearing in the distance. She gives him a small smile before disappearing.

                Castiel trudges his way through the weeds to the small cabin in front of him. Each step he can feel the apprehension melt away and at the same time threatens to consume him. He finally reaches the front. It’s a medium sized cabin, the walls built of sturdy dark colored wood. The window panes are grimy, but Castiel can see the pale green curtains through them well enough. Castiel stares at the cherry wood door, a solid plank that could lead to infinite happiness or infinite misery. Part of him wants to transport away, maybe come back with Sam. But he knows he must do this alone. And with that he pushes forward.

He opens the door quietly, it fails to creak.

                “Dean?” Castiel says as he walks through the threshold, takes in the rustic furnishings and the antlers hung up on the walls. There are photographs of forests and lakes across the walls as he scans the room quickly. Castiel quickly centers in on Dean who drops the book he’s hold when he sees Castiel. Castiel can’t help but notice it’s the mythology volume he’d brought for Dean in the mental facility.

Dean’s eyes soften, “Cas?” He breathes. And Castiel stops breathing. He frozen in his spot, one foot on the patch of carpet, hands fisted at his sides.

“Cas,” Dean hastens closer, takes Castiel’s hand in his own. “Cas? Are you okay,” his expression of happiness fades into concern and Castiel kicks himself internally. He never wanted to see Dean looking like that, not now.

“I—it worked Dean. It worked.” He can’t stop telling himself.

“Yeah,” Dean looks around awkwardly, “I know you don’t want to hear about it, but I need to tell you everything.” Dean glances into Castiel’s eyes, asks for permission. Because if Castiel says no, Castiel knows that Dean will stop, and hide it. But when had hiding it ever helped them?

“Yes,” Castiel says weakly. “Tell me.”

“I—uh—alright,” He wasn’t expecting Castiel to give him the go signal. “So, that night, I was myself, at first I was disoriented. I didn’t know what to do. I looked around and saw the pills in my shoe. And that’s when it all came back Cas. Discussing all of it with you in bed, the fight, well I didn’t waste any time, I took as many as I could and the only thing that kept me going was you Cas. I was going to see you and I wouldn’t forget after. To be honest, I was relieved to end it. I could see it in your eyes all those times, you couldn’t exactly take much more either. If it was you there—I—” Dean’s squeezing Castiel’s hands with his own, and they’ve become clammy. Dean shakes his head, “Cas, I didn’t want to lose this. I’ve—we’ve both lost enough and to have the chance of having it all back, it was unheard of for me, I laid back in bed and closed my eyes, I let you guide me home.”

Castiel only has to see the first tear slide down Dean’s cheek before he’s wiping it away with his thumb. He doesn’t say anything more, guides Dean into his arms.

“God, I’m glad I’ve got you back.” Dean mumbles into Castiel’s shirt.

“Dean,” Castiel doesn’t have words to describe what it feels like to have Dean there. He settles for kissing Dean’s forehead.

At some point Dean tugs Castiel to lone couch in the comfortably crowded sitting room, Castiel sits down and Dean lays his head in Castiel’s lap. He sits there carding his hands through Dean’s hair like it’s his purpose in life. Dean stares into Castiel’s face as he does so, eyes soft and lips parted. He quickly drifts off to sleep, hands clutching loosely at Castiel’s coat.

                He’s finally at rest.

“I need you Cas,” Dean mumbles, “I’ll never stop needing you.”  

 

…

                “I’ve never seen that symbol before,” Sam notes from his position behind Azrael who’s carving at the door with a blunt knife.

                “There are many methods to many things Sam,” She says as she carves a particularly deep serif.

                Lately Sam had been learning more about the angels and Enochian from her. He’d just thought of taking advantage of her knowledge when she’d taken to flitting about the house since she apparently had nothing better to do. Sam could scarcely believe that excuse, she was the angel of death for one thing. Didn’t she have souls to reap or something?

                “So you’re close to Dean are you?” She asks shamelessly.

                “Closer than I’d care to admit,” Sam huffs through his nose, he chuckles.

                “Sam, your brother’s quite lucky to have that angel.” She’s facing the door and Sam can’t tell if she’s serious or mocking. “Believe me, I’m quite serious when it comes to Castiel,”

                “I—yeah, Cas is something. He’s done everything he can to get Dean back, he’s just short of a demon deal.” Sam tries to joke, it falls on deaf ears and he coughs to cover himself. “Dean would still be in hell if it wasn’t for Cas. I was powerless, I couldn’t do anything. I owe Cas to be honest, he’s done so much and he deserves this, he deserves Dean.”

                “They’re quite the pair aren’t they?” Azrael drifts off, Enochian rolling off her tongue at the door. The sigil begins a low red glow.

                “Alright,” Azrael stands, Dean should be here any second now.” Hearing that has Sam pacing restlessly, arm crossed.

                A fluid moment passes before the door opens and Sam just about dies inside.

                “Sammy!” Dean emerges from behind the door with outstretched arms.

                “Dean!” Sam takes him into a bone crushing hug. “Damnit Dean, you’ve just about worried us to death.”

                “Hey, I’m alright, there’s no need for the tears. I’m here right?” Dean says into the crook of Sam’s shoulder.

                “Yeah and that’s why I’m freaking crying Dean, we’ve all been through a lot.” Sam pulls away, his hand still braced on Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, this is Azrael. She’s really helped Cas and me.” Sam gestures to her. Azrael in turn raises an eyebrow and a wing twitches.

                “Azrael huh? So you’re the inside man?” Dean says.

                “In a manner of speaking.” Is all she says before disappearing. Dean frowns. He looks to Sam for an answer.

                “Don’t take it hard she does that often.”

                “Oh,” Dean turns back to Sam. “Sam, don’t scare me like that.”

                “You’re saying that to me? Dean you’ve given both me and Cas a run for our money all on your own.”

                “I’ll admit that. I’m sorry.” Dean chews on the inside of cheek, stares at the floor.

                “It’s alright Dean, how’s Cas doing?” Sam says to change the subject and ease the tension.

                “Oh, he’s doing a lot better. Figured he’d visit Amelia while I came here.” Dean smiles.

                It’s Sam’s turn to stare at the tiles, “She’d like that.”

…

                Castiel wholeheartedly believes that this is too early in the morning. Having had no real sense of time for a while, he finds the adjustment a bit bracing, and the rise of the sun and its accompanying heat less than opportune.

                He had appeared in her living room sometime around midnight. From there, he hunkered down until morning, for her to wake. Castiel startled her when she entered the living room that morning. She then proceeded to hug him and from there the rest of the morning went along more smoothly.

                “I do still miss him, he’ll always have me and that’s comforting in and of itself right?” Amelia asks, hooking her arm around his as they wander the cemetery.

                “You’re doing better?”

                “Yeah, I am Cas. I guess now that you’re all okay, everything’s sort of worked out for the better.”

                “I’d hope so.”

                She hums in agreement.

                “I want you to know that you’ll see Sam again.”

                “And what makes you think that?”

                “His heaven is missing someone.” Castiel says thoughtfully, Amelia claps a hand over her mouth.  “Amelia I think you’re Sam’s soulmate and I wanted to tell you that Sam will be waiting for you.”

                “I—” she lets out a watery chuckle, “Is he really? You know I’ll blame you if I’m sent to some far off corner of heaven when I die you know.”

                “Yes, I fully understand the consequences.” Castiel says as they approach the twin graves, the soil is patted down, undisturbed for months now.

                Amelia lets go of Castiel to place the wreath of flowers she holds in her other hand at the base of Sam’s grave. Castiel who also has one does the same to Dean’s.

                It all seems so strange to do so when Castiel considers the circumstances. That is a matter of hours he’ll be back with a Dean not much different than the one lying beneath six feet of dirt. But in reality the one beneath him is but a shell of Dean. Up in heaven, Castiel revels in Dean’s soul, the pure glow of it and he wonders why he ever attempted, however unintentionally, to dampen it.

                Amelia doesn’t cry when she sees Sam’s grave anymore and Castiel counts it as a significant improvement. She still wears the wedding ring though, doesn’t think she could bear to take it off anyway. Now that she knows her odds of seeing Sam again are high, she smiles in front of his grave, speaks more freely, calls him all the odd endearments she’d come up with when they were together; they used to embarrass him. And she does it all because she loves him unconditionally.

                “I’m glad you’re better Cas,”

                “And I you.”

                “You’ve become like a brother to me.”

                Castiel looks at her, senses she’s not done so he holds off his reply.

                “I love you Cas,” Amelia’s hands smooth over Castiel’s shoulders affectionately. “I want you to be happy and I know you are when you’re with Dean. I—I don’t want you coming back here alright?” She chokes out, eyes glassy.

                “You can’t convince otherwise, as I previously mentioned.”

                “Just let me have this damnit,” She slaps his arm playfully.

                “Amelia, you’re not continuing alone. I’ll visit every week if I have to. I’m happy when I visit you.” Castiel says, he pulls her close into his arms.

….

                “God Cas, make up your mind, lie down or get up.” Dean turns onto his stomach to avoid the sun leaking through the curtains and lighting up the room.

                “I guess I’ll lie down.” Castiel says firmly, crawling back on top of Dean, resting the side of his face against Dean’s neck.

                “Good.” Dean mumbles into the pillow. “I want you. Y’know.”

                “I do know, I need you Dean…” Castiel mumbles to Dean’s skin. It’s warm pressed against him as it is, and Castiel still has a difficult time adjusting to the constant sunshine. He’d like to blame Sam’s heaven for it.

                “That’s nice.” Dean murmurs to the pillow he’s pressed into, “Thank you Cas, for everything.”

                “You don’t have to Dean,”

                “I want to.” Dean shifts, takes Castiel in his arms to keep him close. “I’ll thank you every day for the next…uh forever I guess.” Dean frowns, he seems pretty set on the idea. And Castiel, despite his surface contempt for the idea, is content with just having Dean there next to him. In that moment Castiel is calm and for the first time in a long time he’s content and warm and loved.

                “Dean, I did it because I wanted to.” Castiel leans up and kisses him. It’s a sweet simple kiss. “I love you.” He punctuates it with another kiss to Dean’s throat.

                Dean only holds him tighter.

 

END 


End file.
